Prisoner 4929
by Moonstarer
Summary: Gil Grissom lost everything when James Price went to prison. Brass and Hodges form an unlikely partnership to save him, but is it already far too late? A very dark piece, for other warnings and disclaimers see chapter 1. Winner CSI: FanFiction Awards 2009
1. James Price

**Prisoner 4929**

A/N Due to the nature of this story I've decided to include a longish series of disclaimers and warnings here, and future chapters will just refer back to this one. Please bear with me, the story itself will be starting further down the page.

**Disclaimers:**

I do not own_ CSI: Crime Scene Investigation _or any of its characters. No profit will be made from this story.

Nor, thankfully, do I own, have any responsibility for nor connections with, the Nevada State Legal or Penal systems. Therefore, while I have tried to be authentic, nothing should be assumed or inferred regarding either from the contents of this story.

**Spoilers:**

Possible references back to all episodes but the only risks of more major spoilers are for the following episodes;

_Butterflied,_

_Living Doll,_

_Goodbye and Good Luck._

**Warnings:**

While the above are all major GSR episodes and Grissom's relationship with Sara does have a strong influence on this story, it is set after _Goodbye and Good Luck _and Ms. Sidle will not be coming riding to the rescue with a troop of baby Grissom's in tow. (Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I won't be writing it.) Also, despite my choices for main characters, this is _not_ a slash piece.

**Rating:**

I've decided to aim at "T" because, although this story is dark and may require a certain maturity to read I will not be using strong language or sex scenes and any violence will be no more explicit than watching an episode of _CSI: _itself. However if you disagree with this rating do let me know and I'll consider changing it.

**Finally:**

This story contains a lot of angst, things will not be pleasant for Grissom, if you don't like, don't read, definitely don't flame, and don't say I didn't warn you...

**Chapter 1**

**James Price**

Catherine shifted the official Crime Lab Denali into park and checked that she had everything she needed for what she was about to do. She was feeling nervous. Of course she always did feel a little anxiety after driving out through the Nevada desert to be greeted by the sight of lookout towers and armed guards, wouldn't anyone?. Just being a female walking into a high security men's prison usually felt like asking for trouble. Today though, she was particularly anxious about meeting the inmate she was here to question. Taking a deep breath she stepped out of the vehicle and was struck by the blazing heat and glare reflecting back from the concrete surfaces around her.

At least it was cooler inside. Catherine approached the grille at the security desk. "Catherine Willows from the Vegas Crime Lab," she said, offering her I.D. "I have an appointment to interview prisoner 4929, James Price."

The officer on duty checked his paperwork. "Yep, you're down here. Let me call ahead, then he should be ready and waiting for ya once we're done with the formalities here."

The formalities included paperwork, a brief search and checking in her weapon and cell phone, to be collected again on departure. This was nothing that Catherine hadn't done a hundred times before in her years as a CSI, but still this time felt different. Eventually everything was in order and an officer arrived to escort her down the sterile, over lit, pale grey corridors to the secure interview rooms. She wanted Price to be able to talk to her freely, so they'd be alone together in an enclosed room. Catherine knew that plenty of officers would be nearby, watching through a window and able to hear any shout, although normal levels of conversation would be inaudible outside the room.

Finally they reached their destination; Catherine had been silent for most of the journey, feeling little urge to speak to her escort and still mentally bracing herself. Ahead of them another guard was leaning against the wall beside a steel door. Next to the door was a window, through which the other half of Price's escort could be seen, obscuring Catherine's view of his charge. Seeing her arrive, the officer outside the room straightened.

"Morning Ma'am. I believe you've interviewed inmates solo before?" Catherine nodded. "Then I won't give you the full lecture. Just keep your own voice and body language as calm as possible, don't allow physical contact, don't even let him talk you into going too near him, and if he makes any move at all that seems aggressive or makes you feel uncomfortable just yell out or hit the alarm, we'll be on him like a ton of bricks before he knows it. And don't feel you have to be in there alone with him, one of us is happy to sit in whenever you want." The guard grinned as he reached to open the door. "Don't look so nervous, Ma'am, we'll be keeping an eye on you both at all times."

Catherine hadn't been aware her feelings were so obvious; she took a deep breath as she entered the room, willing herself to at least appear calm.

As she walked through the door the guard inside nodded at her briefly and, after admonishing his charge to "play nice" left Catherine alone in the room with James Price.

The grey walls were a darker shade in here and, although the lighting was more than adequate it was dim in comparison with that outside, making the place seem almost cave like. Cath dropped the file of photographs which she had brought with her onto the steel table and sat in the nearest chair, taking the few moments while the prison staff reorganised themselves outside to observe the prisoner who was seated opposite her.

Price was dressed in the prison's standard issue blue shirt, though he was managing to look smarter in it than many inmates did, despite his slumped shoulders. His hair was freshly clipped into the shortest of crew cuts and he was sporting a greying moustache and goatee beard. His glasses appeared to have slightly tinted lenses, making it difficult to decide what the true colour of his downcast eyes might be. Rather than dangerous or angry, he looked drawn, tired and deeply sad. He looked so different from how Catherine had expected him to that, in the last moment of waiting to be absolutely sure the guards were out of earshot, Catherine found herself checking for the scars she knew would confirm the man's identity.

There they were, left eyebrow and right jaw line, small but noticeable if you knew where to look. Swallowing the last lump of discomfort at addressing the man before her she opened her mouth.

"Gil?" she spoke hesitantly, making his name a question, not because she was unsure of whom he was, but because she was unsure of whom he had become.

"James Price" started a little and his eyes flicked up from the point on the table that he'd been staring at and darted to the door, confirming for himself that they could not be overheard before acknowledging her utterance with his own "Catherine".

Still feeling overwhelmed by the circumstances Catherine tried to pull herself together. "How are you doing?"

His response was a trademark glare at the stupidity of her question, which he did not deign to reply to verbally. That he did not peer over the top of his glasses to give her that look led Catherine to theorize that his new lenses were some form of varifocals, saving him from having to remove them, and their accompanying anonymity, when he wasn't actually reading. Someone had put a great deal of thought into subtly disguising Grissom's identity from his fellow inmates, many of whom he had been instrumental to bringing here.

Catherine tried again. "We've been worried about you."

"Have you? Cut the niceties Catherine, you know I'm not good with small talk and I've never had much patience for 'little white lies'. Just give me the case file and ask your questions. I'm not going to run the risk of the Sheriff claiming I haven't kept my side of our 'deal'." Grissom's tone was full of bitterness, something Catherine had rarely heard from him, not even when Sara had left, leaving him with little more than what some would describe as a 'Dear John' letter.

"Look, Gil, whatever has happened over the last month, it hasn't changed the fact that I care how you're doing, especially in a place like this." Catherine automatically looked around her again as she said this, and tried to suppress her shudder at the bleak austerity of the jail.

"Then 'care' enough not to make me talk about it and give me the file."

"Gil, I..."

Finally giving in to his annoyance Grissom gave a frustrated sigh and leant across the table to grab the file for himself. Until that point his hands had been resting on his lap, but now Catherine realised for the first time that Grissom was handcuffed. Hearing her sharp intake of breath Gil looked at her briefly then drew the file closer to the edge of the table, so that he could turn the pages with his fingertips, keeping his wrists out of sight below the table's edge.

Catherine tried to calm herself, she'd interviewed handcuffed prisoners before and been glad of the protection. She needed to distance herself from the fact that it was Gil Grissom sitting across from her. Even the man's own comments seemed to indicate that that was what he wanted her to do. It was hard though and, now that Grissom seemed engrossed in reading the case notes in front of him, horrified fascination made her glance under the table for a second look.

Yes, there they were, forcing him to hold his hands just a few inches apart. Catherine tried to distract herself; Grissom had always looked good in denim and the fact that the jeans he was currently dressed in were prison issue didn't seem to be reducing the effect. Although her relationship with Grissom had always been Platonic it hadn't stopped her occasionally admiring his form. She let her eyes trace down his legs.

Nausea surged through her, bringing her to her feet before she had time to think.

Grissom looked up at her. "Please sit down, Catherine."

"You're chained to the floor." It was true. Grissom's ankles were linked by shackles, the central chain of which was padlocked to a hasp set into the floor between the legs of his chair, which was also fixed in place.

"I was aware of that," Grissom responded, dryly, "now, please, sit down, you're making my 'friends' out there uncomfortable."

It was true, the guards outside had seen Catherine stand up suddenly and appeared to be considering if this was enough for them to take some form of action. "They should be feeling uncomfortable, I'm going to get one of them in here to get those off you, right now."

"No." The statement was not loud enough to travel beyond the room, but it was forceful. Catherine stared at Grissom, who indicated her chair with his head. She sat down.

"Tell me Catherine, have you ever seen a prisoner secured this way before?"

She nodded, mutely.

"Did you get this upset then?"

"No, but they could have been dangerous."

This time Grissom was silent, just looking her straight in the eye. Catherine broke their linked gaze first, which seemed to fulfil Grissom's expectations. Now he began speaking again, his voice steady, the volume low enough to force her to pay attention, a trick she'd noticed him use before.

"I'm being held in segregation, and that automatically means close custody, escorts, shackles, handcuffs, all of it, I can't have one without the other and I need to be kept separate, I wouldn't be safe any other way. I also need to be treated like everyone else on the same regime, including by you, anything else would just raise questions that I don't want asked.

"All that those guys out there know is that I'm a convicted murderer and that the Warden had me put in segregation so fast I didn't even go through induction with anyone else. And, of course, the police still seem to want to talk to me rather a lot. As far as they're concerned all that means I must be dangerous. The only way they'll take these chains off while you're present will be if at least one of them is in here to. If that happens then you'll be Ms. Willows and I'll be 'James Price' and I won't be able to answer your question because 'James Price' knows nothing about forensic entomology."

Catherine saved him from continuing. "And if I don't go back with an answer then you might be considered in breach of your plea bargain and risk losing your anonymity."

Grissom inclined his head to confirm her conclusion.

"So, what is your question?"

"Just the usual, how long had the victim been dead at the time these photographs were taken? There's a sheet in there with ambient temperature, humidity, other environmental stuff like that. I hope it's enough."

Grissom returned his attention to the file. Catherine watched him leaf through the documents. He stopped for a moment so that he could raise his cuffed hands to scratch at his beard immediately underneath his lower lip. Catherine wondered if this itchiness was the reason he'd always left that part of his chin clean shaven in the past, even when the rest of his beard was nearly full.

Suddenly, and despite her best intentions when she'd known she'd be coming to see Grissom, Catherine found herself asking him a question.

"Why did you do it, Gil?"

He looked at her, the pain she had just caused evident in his eyes for a moment before he blinked them back to blankness.

"Are you asking me why I killed her, or why I agreed not to offer any defence? No, don't bother answering that." He sighed, gathered the file's contents together and pushed them back across the table.

"Vic had been dead around thirty-six hours. And no, normally what you gave me would not have been anywhere near enough, fortunately the species of larvae is both common and predictable. Those are blow fly larvae, Catherine, it should not have been necessary to consult someone with a PhD to work that out. There should be at least one CSI on every shift who can spot and do a rough time line on those, and know how to take the right measurements to pass on to an entomologist for more complex regressions, it's my fault, I know, the Lab should never have got to the stage where everyone had to keep running to the 'Bug Man'. That's why I was so pleased when Sara..." he stopped, unable to continue for a moment.

"Give me a pen." Grissom demanded after a second. Taking the one Catherine offered he scrawled a name on a piece of scrap paper from the file. "You'll find this man's number in my Rolodex, he runs a six week introductory course in forensic entomology. Send Greg if you can spare him, he's shown an interest in my regressions before. Make it a priority Cath. Even with the right observations there's only so much I can do from in here without access to my library, with the right information to pass on you'll be able to consult someone else a lot more easily."

Running out of steam suddenly, Grissom sank his head into his hands.

"We're done now, Catherine, please go."

Catherine hesitated, she didn't want to leave things this way, but it seemed she had no choice, she couldn't even risk offering a touch as physical comfort, with the guards watching from outside. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but Gil stopped her.

"Please, Catherine," he said again, "just go."

TBC

A/N Well, that's Chapter 1, you won't believe the sleepless nights I've had working on this story already! Was it worth it? Only you can tell me. Please submit a review and let me know. _Constructive_ criticism is always welcome, flames are not.


	2. Paying the Price

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 2**

**Paying the Price**

Gil Grissom wasn't quite sure when had his brain given up on him. Was it in the interview room at PD, when they'd put him in handcuffs while quoting MIRANDA at him, or before that, when he'd been staring at the body, tucked up in bed like she'd decided to sleep in her own apartment after all? He was certainly starting to realise that most of his decisions since then had been bad, when he'd been able to make them at all. Then again, he had a history of bad decisions in his life, many of which had probably led to him being here. A whole host of them probably led to Sara's departure, most of which he'd probably never know about now. Not telling his friends and colleagues that he was with Sara was definitely another. To them it must have seemed like he didn't trust them, and that maybe there were other things about him that they weren't aware of. If the Ice-man could love, what other extremes of emotion could he reach and still wear the same mask to work each day? Maybe that was why he hadn't noticed any of them rushing to his aid when all this began. That uncertainty about him had been pretty clear during his interview, with Catherine first asking after his health, then asking for an explanation of his actions. Her inability to hold his gaze when he challenged her assertion that he wasn't dangerous had betrayed her feelings too. Despite the years they'd know each other she clearly didn't know what to think of him right now.

Not going to dinner with Sara when she'd asked. Now that really had been a terrible decision.

But, lying here, on the thin mattress of a prison bunk and thanks to a massive helping of hind-sight, the number one, top of the league, grand-daddy of all his bad decisions had to be opening up to Vincent Lurie.

Grissom moaned aloud as he rolled over to curl up on his side, facing the wall. What had he been thinking? That his little speech would cause the doctor turned murderer to collapse to the floor confessing to killing his former girlfriend and her lover and begging to be allowed to atone? He surely should have realised otherwise even after working for so many hours without a break.

He could still recall his words pretty much verbatim,

"It's sad, isn't it, doc? Guys like us. Couple of middle-aged men who've allowed their work to consume their lives. The only time we ever touch other people is when we're wearing our latex gloves. We wake up one day and realize that for fifty years we haven't really lived at all. But then, all of a sudden we get a second chance. Somebody young and beautiful shows up. Somebody we could care about. She offers us a new life with her but we have a big decision to make, right? Because we have to risk everything we've worked for in order to have her.

I couldn't do it, but you did. You risked it all and she showed you a wonderful life, didn't she? But then she took it away and gave it to somebody else, and you were lost. So you took her life."

Sara had remembered it. He hadn't even known she had been watching until a few years later when she'd admitted that she'd almost given up on him then and there.

Very recently he'd found that Lurie remembered it too.

It had been picked up by the papers when Supervisor Grissom had been suspended from the Crime Lab pending 'an investigation into the suspicious death of a brunette female in her mid-thirties during the investigation of a case of breaking and entry at her home'. Shortly afterwards, according to Grissom's lawyer, Lurie and his lawyer had contacted the Henderson detectives who had been brought in on the investigation and reported what he'd said in the interview all that time ago. There had already been a fair amount of circumstantial evidence building against him at that stage and the detectives had been doing background checks. They knew of his relationship with Sara and that she was no longer in his life, and were struck by the similarities between Grissom's own life and his 'theory' about Lurie's. Because the statements came from two people with social standing they would hold up well in court as evidence that Grissom considered murder a possibility in such circumstances, and it was at that point, despite there being little more actual physical evidence than Grissom and Brass had had on Lurie when they'd had to let him go, that the decision had been made to arrest Grissom and charge him with murder.

His remand in the police cells had been hellish. It had been a shock to be arrested when he'd gone in to PD assuming he'd just have a few more questions to answer and then be able to go home. When his arrest finally sank in, so did the realisation that, whatever the final outcome, it meant his job was now gone, and with it the half of his life that hadn't disappeared with Sara. With all he was now stripped away he'd been left in a state indistinguishable from grieving. Jim Brass had come down to the cells as often as he could find an excuse, trying to reassure him while making sure the practicalities were dealt with. Unfortunately Jim's visits had not gone unnoticed by other prisoners. At first there had been sympathy that the cops were hassling him so much, but eventually he'd been recognised and the spitting had started, followed by threats and even the odd projectile. The memory of it made him hunch up further.

Suddenly Grissom sat up, he had to break the chain of thought he was spiralling into. With the quick movement of his head he noticed tiny sparks of light appear in his peripheral vision like a mini meteor storm. They were the signal that the headache he'd been nursing in the interview room was definitely becoming a migraine.

Massaging the top of his nose with his fingertips before passing his hand up, over his forehead and into the fur-like remains of his once curly hair, Grissom's eye was caught by his lunch tray. He'd stared at it for ten minutes after it had been handed through the slot in his door, then left it untouched, sitting on the small stainless steel shelf that served him as a table. He tried to remember how long it had been there. He needed his migraine medication, the sooner the better if it was to have a real effect. However, while there was a button in his cell to call for help in a real emergency, it was better to wait until someone turned up for the regular half-hourly check, just in case his idea of an emergency didn't match that of the officer in charge. The last time he'd been checked on had coincided with the lunch tray's arrival so the next one shouldn't be too long. Grissom continued to sit on the edge of his bunk, his eyes closed, willing his mind to switch off, go blank, and give him some release.

Debbie Marlin, posed in her bathroom, dead. He'd put himself in her killer's shoes.

Laura McCain, posed in her bedroom, dead. They'd put him in her killer's shoes.

Sara Sidle, posed in his head, dead...

"Price!"

Grissom shook his head trying to rid himself of the last image, releasing more sparks and a sharp pain behind his eyes in the process.

"Price! Wake up, return your lunch tray. Now!"

Suddenly, Grissom remembered that _he_ was James Price now. He stood up carefully trying not to aggravate his head. Picking up his uneaten meal he posted it through the door slot which had been opened from outside.

"Not hungry? You will be by the next meal."

Grissom doubted it. "Please," he said, before the guard disappeared from the observation window, "I have a migraine, I need my medication."

"Has any been written up for you?" The guard seemed sceptical, plenty of inmates probably claimed to suffer from migraines when at worst they had a normal headache. Fortunately Grissom wouldn't have to suffer for other people crying 'wolf'.

"Yes, I was told the pills would be kept on this wing so I wouldn't have to wait for long if I needed them." James Price's medical records were identical to his own and indicated that he'd been having migraines for years and they weren't a new invention coinciding with his arrival in jail. It meant his prescription had been provided for straight away.

"I'll check once my rounds are finished." It was the best he was likely to get, and Grissom didn't argue further.

Ten minutes later the guard was back, this time with a colleague, a sign that the cell door was going to be opened. Grissom stood and moved to the back of the cell, facing the door and with his hands in clear view. The lock clicked back and the guard entered, while his colleague remained watching from the doorway. He passed Grissom two pills in a small plastic cup and watched carefully as his prisoner swallowed them directly from the pot. Next he donned latex gloves and Grissom submitted to having his mouth inspected with the aid of a small torch, to ensure that he really had swallowed the medication. That done, the guard's colleague made a note on the board by the cell door so that anyone attending him would immediately know he had taken drugs without referring to any other record.

"Anything else?"

Grissom wasn't sure if the enquiry was genuine or sarcastic. Hesitantly he asked if the lights in his cell could be dimmed. He was told in no uncertain terms that his lights would be dimmed at ten-thirty p.m. like everyone else's and no sooner. That was enough to stop Grissom asking for any other favours, although he would have liked to be missed out from the next round of meals, he knew he wouldn't be hungry and being allowed to sleep as long as his meds would let him would be the best thing for him. His cell door clanging shut caused his head to reverberate with it.

At least being in segregation meant he wouldn't be expected to leave his cell again for some time, by Grissom's calculation it would be at least thirty-six hours before he was due to be taken down to the showers. After stripping down to his underwear, Gil grabbed a towel and carefully folded it. He got under the single top sheet and blanket, then, placing the towel under his head, he used his only actual pillow to cut out as much light and sound as possible before his medication finally cut in and sent him into sleep.

It didn't seem like more than a few minutes before he was woken by the most horrendous of clatters. The pillow must have slipped from over his head as he slept, and opening his eyes brought a wave of pain even greater than that caused by the noise.

"Come on, Price, not got room for your dinner?"

The guard's voice ricocheted around his brain, but it was the last word that really did it. For once Grissom was grateful for the small size of his cell. It meant he didn't have to move far from the bed before he could...

A disgusted grunt came from the doorway, then he was assaulted by more metallic sounds as his tray was withdrawn and the hatch closed again. Gil knew that if he missed three meals in a row questions would be asked, but right now he was too busy throwing up what little he still had in his system to care. Several minutes later he crawled shakily back to his bunk.

A/N Well, I did say dark! Although Grissom probably wishes it were darker right now.

Anyway, Brass and Hodges will be making their first appearance next chapter, along with more explanation of how and why Grissom has fallen so far. In the mean time, please review!


	3. Friends Beyond Price

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 3**

**Friends Beyond Price**

About an hour after Graveyard shift began, Jim Brass was wandering through the corridors of the Crime Lab when David Hodges appeared in the doorway of Trace. Exaggeratedly he looked around and then jerked his head to indicate that Jim should join him in his lab. Feeling like an extra from a bad spy movie, Jim sighed and entered Hodges lair.

Jim knew this had to be connected with what had happened a couple of weeks earlier when he had been in Gil's office, going through the desk drawers in search of useful items like his friend's spare house keys and reading glasses. Suddenly, David Hodges had slipped into the room. Faithful guardian of all things Grissom or just plain nosey, Brass wasn't sure, but the Trace Tec obviously wasn't going to be fobbed off.

Facing an interrogation technique which had left Brass thinking he should get Hodges to train some of his detectives, David had eventually persuaded Jim to update him on Grissom's situation. Jim had had the uncomfortable job of telling Hodges that, only the day before, Grissom had accepted a plea bargain from the ADA in charge of his case. There had been some negotiation of details, but effectively Grissom had agreed to serve a sentence for second degree murder of twenty-five years with the possibility of parole after ten, and to continue to assist the LVPD with his expertise in forensics, in exchange for protection and anonymity in prison, which would include serving his term under an alias.

Hodges had appeared genuinely shocked and concerned about Grissom and that had made Brass soften his opinion of him a little, although he'd been glad that, at the time, he had no details of where Grissom would be held or under what name, so Hodges couldn't wheedle that out of him.

"Why would he agree to that?" Hodges had asked, his forehead creasing over the hooded green eyes as he tried to understand his idol's actions. "Ten years minimum and he didn't actually do anything."

Brass had tried to solve that one for himself and he'd given Hodges the best explanation he'd managed to come up with. "All I can think of is that he's frightened. He's still in the PD cells while things are being set up. They've moved him to the far end of the row as much out of the way as possible, but there's no segregation in there and the intimidation's been pretty severe since he was recognised as a CSI. If he went to trial the publicity would be horrendous, any new inmates would be looked at twice to see if they were him, he'd never manage to avoid being recognised, especially when you consider the number of Nevada prisoners he had a hand in convicting. Even if that wasn't a factor, by going to trial he'd risk being found guilty of first degree murder instead, which at best would mean he'd have to serve twice as long before getting parole and at worst that he could end up on death row. Between losing Sara and now his job he probably feels like his freedom isn't much more to lose"

"Surely there's not enough evidence?" had been David's reaction.

"It's all circumstantial, although there are a couple of witnesses to something Gil said in the past that might be considered incriminating. As it happens one of them really is guilty of murder, but Gil and I couldn't get enough to finger him for it, so it can't be used to discredit the guy's statement. They'd look good in court as proof that Grissom may have had a motive. Gil being lead CSI on the case gave him opportunity – hell, _I'm_ a witness to his being the last person seen with the victim while she was still alive _and_ he found her body, both of which put him at the head of the possible suspects list. That was why I persuaded him to recuse himself from the case. Plus the ADA would claim that the lack of evidence _is_ evidence because, if Gil were guilty, he would know precisely what to do to cover himself."

Hodges had nodded, "A lose-lose situation." He looked hard at Brass, as though the detective was a piece of trace he was working out how best to analyse. "You do agree with me that he is innocent, don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah, I do." That had been the truth, by then.

Hodges' belief in Gil's innocence might have sprung from whatever loyalty the strange man felt towards Grissom, but Brass had to admit he'd grown cynical during his years in law enforcement and, while he'd hated the feeling, he'd seen enough calm, quiet and apparently harmless people commit terrible crimes to know that he had to at least consider that something in Grissom had snapped. The cause could have been something like burn out or suppressing his feelings about Sara's departure, and Laura McCain might have been just enough like Sara Sidle to cause Grissom to flare up at her. Even the victim being posed tucked up neatly in her bed would have tied in with a remorseful killer thinking about his absent girlfriend, precisely what a homicidal Gil Grissom might have done. Then the man had meekly accepted prison as if it was his only option, and Jim was able to see why the other CSIs, who had seen so much themselves, felt unsure about the situation.

To his own relief, two things had convinced Brass of his old friend's blamelessness. Firstly, he'd observed Grissom's arrest. Officially he'd been taken off the case as soon as Grissom was identified as chief suspect. The Sheriff had wanted to play things by the book and requested a team of detectives from Henderson to take over. Jim had managed to wangle his way in as liaison between the Henderson team and LVPD. So, although he'd been banned from the interrogation room, he'd managed to be in the observation room next door at the time of Grissom's arrest. Not that he'd known what was about to happen, he'd been almost as shocked as Gil when, after asking the CSI only a few questions, they'd asked him to stand and put his hands behind his back. Jim had seen every change in his friend's expression as he cuffs clicked into place and his rights were explained to him.

That had been the key, the look on his friend's face. Brass had seen hundreds of arrests and had seen a whole range of reactions. Grissom's face didn't show the anger of someone whose plans had been foiled, or the resignation of someone who expected to be caught out eventually, nor was there the astonishment of a perp who had been so sure of themselves that they never expected to be caught out, or the smugness of someone who still expected their brief to get them off. Grissom's expression had been sheer bewilderment; he'd even seemed to slip into a brief trance, needing to be carefully guided down to the police cells. To Jim it said that this was an innocent man who had never imagined he'd be arrested, simply because there was nothing to arrest him for.

Further confirmation had come when Jim had read the documentation for Grissom's case and discovered what most of the negotiations regarding the plea bargain had been about. The DA's office would certainly have asked Grissom to plead guilty, but in the end Gil's plea had been recorded as one of _Nolo Contendere_, literally meaning "I do not wish to contest". There was little practical difference between that and a guilty plea as far as the court was concerned, either way Gil was accepting punishment for the crime, so there had to be another reason for the change. While Brass was aware that there might be several motivations behind that choice of plea, the only one Jim could think of for Gil insisting on it was that, even in those circumstances, Gil could not bring himself to plead guilty to something he did not do. That was good enough to have Jim convinced of Gil's innocence.

Once he'd got Brass' agreement that Grissom was innocent of murder, Hodges had quickly moved on, asking Jim how they were going to help their friend. Brass hadn't been sure that they could.

"He's lodged a 'no contest' plea, Hodges, I'll have discreet conversations with a few of the better defence attorneys, but as far as I know it's virtually impossible to lodge an appeal after doing that."

Hodges response made the answer sound simple. "So, instead of proving Grissom didn't do it, we have to find out who did. If someone else committed the murder then they'd have to let Gil go."

"Not as easy as it sounds, especially now the case has officially been closed. Unless Gil can get the right to make an appeal the evidence will stay locked out of reach and even if more turned up we couldn't use PD or Lab resources to look into it. Leaving us with another lose-lose situation." Brass had finished, quoting Hodges own words back at him.

The conversation had gone on for a little while longer, but had failed to make either participant feel any better. Eventually Brass had extracted himself, after making himself a promise which he informed Hodges of in no uncertain terms.

"Don't breathe a word of this to anyone, and if you come up with anything to help Grissom, check in with me first, because if anything you do or say endangers my friend then you'll have done him one favour. There'll be someone keeping him company in serving time for murder."

David had been puzzled. "What do you mean, who'll be serving time, and who would the victim be?"

Brass' normally jovial outwards appearance had disappeared for a moment and, with a ferocious grin, he'd replied, "Me, and you, in that order."

Back in the present, Brass waited to hear what Hodges had to say.

"I accidentally overheard Catherine talking to Warrick earlier."

Brass wasn't so sure about the 'accidentally', he suspected a certain amount of skulking had been involved, but he nodded for the lab rat to continue.

"She had an interview with Gil this morning and, in between moaning about how hard this whole thing's been on her," again Brass suspected he was getting Hodges own special slant on the truth, "it sounded as though Gil's having a rough time of it."

"Yeah, he's not exactly the jail bird type. He may have come across plenty of low-lifes as part of his job, but that still won't have left a guy like him prepared for the kind of conditions he's facing in there, he's an academic at heart for goodness sake. He's probably on his own most of the time too, and I don't suppose that brain of his is easily distracted without all his books and music to occupy him. I imagine everything that's happened in the last few weeks just keeps haunting him over and over, while he calculates what he could have done differently. It was bad enough when Sara left and then he had this place and that mutt of his to keep him occupied"

"He needs a visit from a friendly face." Hodges' response tacitly implied that he thought Catherine might not have fitted that description.

"I know, but I'm having trouble coming up with a case I can say I need to consult him on, and I can't go see him the regular way, it was me visiting him that called attention to him in the PD cells. Having me in the visitors' waiting area is bound to raise questions, and it's the same for the CSIs, if we could get any of them to volunteer, I mean if you'd seen Warrick Brown in court at your loved one's trial you'd hardly miss remembering him if he popped up just as you were visiting them inside, and you'd be quite sure to mention it to them too."

"Actually," Hodges responded quietly, staring down at his hands and seemingly a little embarrassed, just for once, "I was thinking of the face being mine."

TBC

A/N As usual when Grissom isn't around I found this chapter harder to write than normal. I hope I haven't got too bogged down with all the exposition or been completely OC for Brass and Hodges either. As usual I'm asking for your reviews, constructive criticism to keep me on the straight and narrow or a kind word to help spur me on, both are welcome in equal measure, just hit the button, please, and say something.


	4. Knowledge has its Price

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

**Spoilers:** I'm adding the episode "You Kill Me." which I saw last night, to the spoilers list, just for this chapter.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 4**

**Knowledge Has Its Price**

Jim Brass waited, not altogether patiently, while David Hodges unfastened the large number of locks securing his home. When he'd first arrived and seen the amount of security, Jim had half expected to have to show his badge to the door's spy hole before getting access, despite the fact it was Hodges idea that they should meet there.

Brass had been unsure that Grissom would agree that Hodges was a 'friendly' face, but he had to agree it would at least be a familiar face, and he didn't want Gil to feel completely abandoned and alone now that he was in prison. He'd agreed to Hodges' suggestion and now he was carrying a messenger bag containing paperwork he needed to pass on to the trace technician. He'd had to go home to get it as he hadn't wanted to leave information relating to Grissom's incarceration lying round his office at the police department. This secrecy was also why he wasn't just meeting Hodges at some diner. They were too odd a couple to risk being seen together outside work, no way would they have been able to pass it off as a casual arrangement.

Finally, the door opened and Hodges beckoned him in. Even though he was at home, David was wearing much the same clothing he would at work, it seemed he didn't really do 'casual'. Held in his hand was what appeared to be a box of tissues, which he now offered to Jim. Puzzled, the detective looked closer, the box actually contained disposable bootees as would normally be used at a crime scene. Apparently Hodges wanted Brass to put them on before entering his apartment. Bemused, but not wanting to start an argument this early on in proceedings, Brass slipped a pair over his shoes and then followed his host inside.

"I was just making myself coffee," Hodges announced, "want one?"

Brass accepted, and was left alone as David disappeared into the separate kitchen. His detective's instincts meant he wasn't at a loose end however, there was plenty to examine in Hodges' apartment.

One wall of the main room was covered with certificates. Not just Hodges' professional qualifications and those from his graduate school studies in San Diego, but possibly every certificate Hodges' ever earned. Swimming certificates, a frame containing a number of Boy Scout badges and, apparently, Hodges had been voted "Games Master of the Year" at Williams three years running, whatever that meant. There was a shelf on the same wall with a number of small trophies, mainly from quiz leagues. Pride of place, in the middle of the wall, was held by a certificate indicating a high scoring pass for a course on 'The seasonal fluctuations in observed behaviors of the Walden Pond swamp mosquito' presented by a Doctor G. Grissom.

The bookshelves were much as Brass would have expected, once he'd got around the preconception of Hodges just being annoying and accepted that, whatever his personality quirks, Hodges was a highly qualified and experienced trace technician. Scientific works and journals on a wide range of subjects, particularly forensics, chemistry and materials analysis were densely packed along the shelves. Gaps between the shelving units held framed copies of Hodges' published scientific papers, each displayed together with the cover of the journal in which they'd appeared. Every book had a neat plastic cover over the dust jacket, and every magazine was encased in its own Mylar bag.

Hodges seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time to prepare two cups of coffee and Brass found himself examining the titles of the books more closely. Although Hodges' scientific range was extensive and his personal library reflected that, Brass thought that the entomology section contained more books than he would have expected. Careful not to dislodge the plastic covers he picked out one or two to examine them more closely. He soon spotted the link. Every one of them listed Grissom's name as a contributor, from the few small volumes his friend had authored solo to one or two where Grissom had merely contributed a short quote of recommendation.

Brass quickly slipped the books back into position on the shelf as he heard the kitchen door open and Hodges emerged with a neatly laid out tray.

"I didn't know how you took your coffee."

Staring down at the array of milk, cream and even different types of sugar, Brass couldn't help thinking it would have been easier just to ask.

Getting down to business, Brass produced the contents of his case.

"You'll need to fill this out and return it to the prison to become an authorized visitor. I filled out Grissom's new details for you."

Hodges scanned the page, "James Price?"

"Yeah, that's what he's going by in there, make sure you don't forget and call him something else. And it is James, no abbreviation, although I'm not sure if that's to avoid confusion, or just because something's put him off the name Jim."

Hodges nodded, ignoring the attempt at humour, and put the form to one side as Brass produced another bunch of papers.

"This is a copy of the canteen list for segregated prisoners. You're not supposed to take anything in for him that isn't down there, other than books, and they have to be sent directly to the prison by an approved retailer. A list of those is on the back."

"It looks very limited."

"It is jail. If there's something you really want him to have, within reason, then call the prison, Gil may be segregated, but it's not as punishment, and he'll be confined pretty much twenty-four hours a day with no association. He may be given a little leeway with the rules because of that, but you do need to warn them in advance, the guys who deal with this on visiting days will just say no to anything not on the list, unless you've pre-arranged something.

Hodges looked up from the document.

"Actually, there is something missing from this that I particularly want him to have, maybe you could let me know if you think I'd be wasting my time asking."

Brass followed Hodges further into the apartment and opened the door to what should have been the guest room. Instead of a bed, though, there were shelves, row upon row of them, each stacked with board games, mainly based on seventies and eighties TV shows, but also some which looked rather more complex. Against the only free wall was a desk. The only untidy thing Brass had seen in Hodges apartment, it was spread with notebooks, paper, pens and what appeared to be folders containing case files. There was also the box for a board game called 'Lab Rats'.

Suddenly Brass had a horrible thought. He'd heard rumours of Hodges' criminalistics game. Surely the man wasn't so oblivious to life beyond his own head that he thought a game based on murder would be a good way to cheer Grissom up right now?

Fortunately that wasn't on the lab tech's mind. Instead Hodges went to one of the shelves and picked up a small wooden box, around six inches by seven and maybe an inch deep. Carefully, David undid the latch and lifted the lid to show the contents to Brass.

It was a neat travel chess set, with tiny wooden pieces on a peg board to keep them in place.

Brass actually grinned at Hodges. "Oh, you should definitely call the prison about letting him have that. I hope they say yes, too, because it's a brilliant idea."

Hodges just basked in the glory of the moment.

Returning to the lounge they finished their coffees and Grissom's closest friend and the man who wanted the position, discussed what else Hodges might take in for Grissom, and what subjects might or might not be safe for discussion during a visit.

---

The prison officer peered into the cell. Price was currently in what the men who were responsible for guarding him were coming to call Position Two. Position One involved Price lying on his bed staring at the ceiling. Position Two was sitting on the edge of his bunk and staring at the wall. Nine times out of ten when a prison officer performed the twice hourly checks during daylight hours he would find Price in one of those positions, and often during the night too. Along with his other colleagues on the segregation wing the guard had a bet on how long it would be before Price ended up transferred to the psychiatric wing, but that was his only interest in what was going on inside the man's head.

"You have a visitor, Price."

As usual, the man in the cell took a moment to respond, then simply turned his head towards the door. He appeared puzzled, as though it had never crossed his mind that he might get a visit. He still didn't bother to speak, but then, he rarely did.

"So, do I open this door or not?" The guard was getting impatient.

The prisoner's shoulders moved as he sighed, then he nodded at the guard through the observation window. Price might not be very responsive, but he appeared to have learnt the routine and now, without needing to be told, he stood in the required position, well back, hands in sight, allowing the guard to open the cell door. In many respects the guards found Price a model prisoner, he was quiet, passive and easy to control. As the other half of the prisoner's escort waited outside the cell door, Price obediently held his hands out and allowed himself to be handcuffed, then knelt on his bunk while shackles were locked around his ankles.

They made good progress along the corridors. Price kept his eyes down as he moved carefully in his shackles, and the two man escort soon adjusted to their charge's movement as he swayed a little each time he put weight on his left leg. Each had a hand on one of Price's arms, but it was simply to remind him of their presence and occasionally steer him at a junction. The guard had a feeling that , if they hadn't been there, Price might just have carried on trudging forwards until he hit a brick wall.

It was only when they were arriving at the visiting room that Price seemed to become a little difficult, starting to hold back a little.

Always alert for trouble from an inmate, the guard gave his full attention to James Price's face and body language. No longer concentrating on where he was placing his feet, the man was staring at the door to the visiting room. Although the prisoner's expression was almost completely blank there were traces of nervousness, a slight working of the jaw, and a flicker of his tongue, moistening dry lips.

Whatever was bothering him, though, he still wasn't saying anything.

Price was slowing even more now, and his breathing was starting to speed up slightly. The guard looked over at his colleague, neither needed to speak to know that they were thinking the same thing. Whatever was wrong with their prisoner it needed to be dealt with here, rather than risk having him cause a disturbance once he was in with the other prisoners. Both prison officers tightened their grip on Price's arms, bringing him to a halt.

"So, Price, are you gonna tell me what your problem is? 'Cos otherwise we need to get a move on, you're last one in, and no-one gets to see their visitor until you're settled."

No response.

"Look, if you're worried about what's waiting for you in there..." Still silence, but Price's head was turning in his direction. "...you needn't. There's a glass screen between you and your visitor and if you really don't wanna talk to them just call out, we won't be far away and we'll take you straight out again."

Finally Price spoke, although he seemed a little behind.

"I'm the last to go in?"

"Yeah, and you'll be first to leave too. Warden says you're not to mix with the other prisoners so we'll be pulling you out of there ten minutes before visiting time ends, and you'd better not argue. Got that?"

Silent again, Price nodded, then took a deep breath before starting to edge forwards, his eyes on his feet once more.

Inside the room, Price's guards steered him into the chair nearest the entrance. On each side of the chair there were partitions to give Price some privacy with his visitor. There was an old fashioned telephone handset hanging on one of the panels, waiting to be used. In front was a glass screen through which could be seen an identical arrangement on the visitor's side.

Price had tensed briefly on entering the room, but now that he couldn't see the other prisoners he seemed to be a little calmer. Once his charge was seated the guard kept a firm grip on Price's shoulders while his colleague secured the man's feet, then stood to release his wrists.

That done the guards stepped back, nodding to the officer in charge, who would now radio through that the visitors could enter their side of the room.

Glancing back at the prisoner before seating themselves against the back wall of the room, Price's guards noticed he had gone back to staring, this time at his own reflection in the glass in front of him.

"Do you think he'll actually talk to his visitor?" One whispered.

The other guard just shrugged.

TBC

A/N Well, Grissom is definitely struggling to cope, will Hodges be able to make a difference? Find out in the next chapter.

In the mean time, please submit lots of reviews, they cheer me up and inspire me to write faster! Thanks to everyone who has helped me with their reviews already.


	5. Name Your Price

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 5**

Grissom found himself staring at his reflection in the toughened glass. He'd been drifting off like this a lot recently, but now he needed to concentrate. He tried to focus on the details of the ghost like image before him.

The glasses. He hated them, life was bleak enough right now, without the greyish tinge they added to everything. Yet he feared to take them off, even in his cell. He knew that it was the eyes which registered most strongly when recalling what a person looked like and it would only take the recognition of one guard who had happened to have been on escort duty while one of his cases was in court to make his new life even harder than it already was.

The beard. His mother would have hated that. She'd never really been happy when he had facial hair, she said it made lip reading too difficult. The compromise had been that he kept the area below his mouth clear and trimmed his moustache regularly. His new goatee broke all those rules, and to be honest, he felt it looked too much like he was _trying_ to disguise himself. At least his mother would never see it, had not lived to know what had happened to her son.

Dragging himself back from that thought, he examined himself again. Maybe he should have tried the hair cut before. The simple quarter-inch all-over clipper cut didn't look too military and might have suited him better as a younger man, and it would have been a good option when, in his teens and twenties, he'd found his curls most annoying. It was strange how much he missed them now.

It had taken him until well into his adulthood to become comfortable in his skin and confident that he was where he wanted to be in his life. Now everything was stripped away and he barely recognised his own reflection any more.

Grissom wondered if he'd made another bad decision in agreeing to see his visitor. He'd seriously considered saying no, but then decided to chance it. The visitor must have known his new identity to have arranged this, so he decided to take that as a sign that the person was trustworthy. Besides, even with his mind working at its new, lower, level, he was bored. There was a limit to how many times he could reasonably count the number of tiles on his cell walls, even if he had an attention span only a goldfish could envy and, due to this, or possibly simply intellectual snobbery, nothing he'd seen when the prison's library cart had been brought to his cell had held the slightest interest for him.

As he'd been escorted towards the visiting room's doors the reality of his decision had started to dawn on him and he'd been truly frightened before entering the room. The guards had seemed to think he was scared of who might visit him, but it wasn't that. It was because he'd realised that, for the first time, he would be in a room with other inmates, rather than just passing one or two in the corridor as he was moved from place to place. Only his guards comments that he was going to be kept as much apart from his fellow inmates as possible and that the officers would be within calling distance had allowed him to start moving again.

He'd still not been confident when they entered the room. To his left a series of blue clad backs had been visible, to the right a blank wall had a few chairs placed along it, many occupied by prison officers. After so long alone he'd found it unnerving to be in the presence of so many people again, but at least none of the inmates had appeared interested in him, not even turning around in their bays to see him enter. Once he was settled in his own seat and out of sight of the other men he'd tried to relax, ending up going too far and slipping into the trance like state he was now trying to escape from.

The doors to the room on the visitors' side of the glass must have been opened. Grissom could hear the buzz of one-sided conversations beginning as each prisoner picked up the old fashioned handset beside him and started to speak to his visitor. To Gil's relief, as well as being nearest the door on the prisoner's side of the glass partition, it seemed that he was at the far end of the line from where the visitors entered. No-one was passing the cubicle he had been allocated, he would not be on display until his own visitor got there.

A shadow obscuring the glass in front of him made Grissom start. Realising he'd drifted off again he forced himself to focus on who was seating themselves before him. Astonished, Grissom recognised the thin form and saturnine features of David Hodges.

_Who the hell gave him my details? _Grissom wondered, surely even Conrad Ecklie wouldn't have thought that this was a good idea. Why would Hodges even want to bother with him, now that he had no power, no influence, no reputation.

Curious he picked up the handset beside him and waited for Hodges to do the same.

"Hello, David." Grissom's voice was wary.

Hodges could understand that caution. In responding he made sure he used Grissom's alias clearly, to try and reassure the man that he would not be given away.

"Hello, James. The guys at the office thought a visit from a 'back-room boy' might be most appropriate, and I won the nomination. I'm pleased to see you. Well, obviously not in this situation and you don't actually look very well, but err, well." Hodges trailed off as Grissom dragged a pair of tired eyes up to gaze at him. "Anyway I guess I pass as a reasonably familiar face even if I'm not as immediately _recognisable_ as our mutual friend Jim, for example."

Now Grissom was starting to get it. Unable to come himself without causing problems, Brass had tried to find someone who knew Grissom but wouldn't be recognised as a member of law enforcement. Taking that brief list and cross referencing it with those who might be willing to make a prison visit had probably resulted in one name. Still, Grissom couldn't quite work out what was in this for David.

He let Hodges ramble for a while as he turned the problem over, willing his brain to work for once. As his visitor updated him on 'office' gossip the answer came to him.

"Is that why you're here, David?" he interrupted the tech., his voice quiet but icily cold. "Decided to do some research so that you'll have something to say at coffee break? Going to impress Henry, Archie and Mandy with how you were the one considered important enough to be told my secrets? Going to drop a few hints that you have it on 'good authority' that the 'Big Guy' isn't so big any more? Maybe you just wanted the chance to say good-bye before you decide who it would be most useful to kiss up to next? Am I right about any of this? Because if I am, then I think you should leave now."

Suddenly Grissom's anger ran out and he stopped speaking, a thick band of sadness constricting his chest. It made it hard to breathe and he almost missed David's response.

"Actually, no." Somehow David's face had become even more lugubrious. It caught Grissom's attention despite his own misery, had he actually managed to penetrate Hodges' thick skin and hurt the guy?

"You may not want to believe me, but I actually do want to try and help. I have always wanted to have a genuine friendship with you whether or not you're my boss. You have never seemed to think much of the relationship we do have. I'm a nuisance to you, I get that, but you manage to be polite about it most of the time, you've even thrown me a bone of conversation now and again. Did you even know that you're the only person in Las Vegas who regularly calls me by my first name?"

If Hodges had been capable of looking Grissom in the eye while opening his heart like this he would have seen the moment of comprehension suddenly arrive, but he was looking down while rubbing at the back of his neck and simply kept on talking.

"I respect you, and this situation hasn't changed that, because I don't believe you could have done what you were accused of. I don't understand why you chose to be here, but as you are, I will do everything I can to help make this easier. I've left a few things with security, they'll be delivered to your cell when they've been checked over. I'll go now, if that's what you want. I swear no-one except Jim will know I've ever been here. If you can't trust me I wish you could have trusted his judgement instead."

"Wait!" Grissom spoke hurriedly into his handset before Hodges could get to his feet.

"I'm sorry, David, that wasn't fair of me. It's a poor excuse, but all I can offer is that I don't feel..." he paused for a moment, massaging his eyebrow, hunting for the right word, but not finding it, and wondering if this was another symptom of his general malaise.

"My brain... It's like living in a fog and everything seems to work so slowly. Then when something comes along that actually forces me to start thinking I find myself lashing out, assuming everybody believes the worst of me and that their actions are guided by that. I misread you and I'm sorry."

"Well, you know what they say about assuming things." Hodges said, knowing he was offering up one of Grissom's own favourite sayings.

It even had the desired effect for a moment. Grissom produced a tight half-smile. "Yeah," he said quietly, "I know."

"So," the former CSI continued, trying to restart the conversation on a lighter note, "what did you bring me?"

Hodges eased back into his seat. Happy to accept Grissom's apology and willing to go along with any attempt at reconciliation he started to talk about the items he'd chosen with Brass' help. He even managed to make a joke about the reaction from security if the chocolate he'd brought had been the one with Grissom's "favourite centres". There was also a package on the way to Gil from Amazon. Hodges explained what was in that too and then offered to order Gil anything else he might want from there.

Grissom didn't respond, at a loss to think of any book to ask for, he simply looked at Hodges his brow furrowed as if trying to remember something.

Disconcerted by the lack of response, Hodges quickly widened the query to ask if there was anything at all that he could send to, or do for, the man he continued to consider his friend.

Grissom thought for a moment more, opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again.

"James," once again Hodges used Grissom's assumed name, "whatever you need, ask, I might not be able to help you, but if I don't know what you want..." He shrugged, letting Grissom finish the sentence for himself.

Suddenly Grissom leant forward, half whispering into the handset he began to ask for the one thing he really wanted right then.

"Find Sara for me. I don't want her to keep calling and not getting an answer, then come rushing back to look for me. Tell her something, anything, just don't let her come back to Vegas and find out that this has happened."

Hodges hesitated.

"Please? I'm sure Jim would help."

"Could you give any clue where to look, her mobile number maybe?" Hodges was stretching his neck the way he tended to do when anxious.

"If I had her number I'd just have asked you to call her. Sara wanted to have 'control' over when we were in contact, she only wanted to talk to me when she felt strong enough. She ditched her old cell 'phone and just called me from pay phones at random times to let me know she was OK. She even swapped between my home, cell and office numbers. She never stays in one place long enough to give me a postal address either, or so she tells me."

The last, half doubtful, phrase was barely audible over the handset as Grissom's grip weakened and the handset drifted away from his mouth. Even Hodges could see the man was drifting back to wherever his mind had been when his visitor arrived.

"James!" said David, sharply, before Grissom could drop the handset altogether. "Look," he continued, as Gil focussed on him again, "I'll try, we'll try. Just, you know if she's been hiding her tracks from you like that it won't be easy, I mean if the FBI..." Hodges stopped, hoping Grissom was too out of it to notice his slip.

He was unlucky.

"The FBI? Why would the FBI be looking for her?"

"The PD wants to speak to her and you said she's probably out of state, so they asked the Feds to help. That's all." Hodges hoped it would be enough for his former boss.

Grissom clearly was having trouble thinking. David could almost see gear wheels turning behind the tinted glasses as Gil processed what had just been said to him.

Griss rubbed at his chin, hard enough that Hodges could hear the rasping of his beard, picked up by the handset's microphone. Suddenly he lifted his head and looked at Hodges anxiously.

"They don't think she's an accomplice, do they?"

Hodges was thankful he could shake his head to that one. He wished he could just claim not to know what was happening, but he didn't want to be caught in a lie, not after the problems he'd had trying to get Grissom's trust earlier.

"Not an accomplice." Now Grissom wished he could go back to not thinking again as the truth hit him. "They think that I, I kil..." He couldn't persuade himself to finish.

"Why would anyone think I could harm Sara? Besides she's been in contact. I spoke to her the day before I was arrested. I told them that."

"Probably the same way some people have managed to believe you could kill anyone. I'm sorry, James, but you just said yourself that Sara's been using all her skills to stop you contacting her and, according to Jim, you're the only person who's had any contact with her since she left her mother about a week after she walked out of the lab."

Now the telephone handset was slipping half out of Grissom's hand, and all Hodges could do was wait until Griss chose to lift it up again. Tapping on the glass between them was strictly forbidden by the rules for visiting, and even if it hadn't been, David had felt a little like he was visiting the zoo as he'd walked through the room seeing the inmates arrayed behind their individual glass walls, and he'd always hated the kind of people who bugged the animals by tapping on the glass if they weren't being entertaining enough.

When Grissom had remained in the same position for several minutes, with only the occasional slow shake of his head for movement, Hodges began to wonder if he should speak to one of the prison officers on his side of the barrier to radio through and get someone to check on 'Price'.

Before Hodges could make his decision, a guard appeared behind Grissom making him jump by touching him on the shoulder. David couldn't make out what was being said, but when the conversation was over and the guard stepped back, Grissom lifted the handset to his ear again and started talking.

"Sorry, David, I guess I've been doing that a lot recently. Hopefully I'll be better company next time." His voice became almost plaintive. "There will be a next time won't there?"

David opened his mouth, but Grissom continued before he could speak.

"I know it's no easy to do something like this when you're on Grave, but maybe, just once in a while, you could make it?"

"Maybe I'll manage not to upset you so much next time too." Hodges tried to keep his positive response light and hide his growing concern for Grissom. "Maybe you'd like to call me sometimes as well, if that would help."

"Thanks," Grissom managed a half smile, "but I'll try not to, I have to ask for the 'phone to be brought to my cell if I need to use it, and they certainly won't bring it down in the middle of the night, so the odds are it would arrive just when you're trying to get some sleep."

Grissom sighed briefly before continuing, "David, that guard wasn't coming to check on how I was doing, he was letting me know I have only a few minutes before they take me out of here. When he comes back I'd appreciate it if you'd leave at once, without looking back. Will you do that?"

Grissom was relieved when Hodges nodded, he was warming to the man, but he really didn't want him watching as the guards led him away in fetters. He was just grateful he hadn't been left in handcuffs during the visit.

As Grissom was thanking David once more for what he was doing, the guard returned. Hodges kept his promise and immediately got up to leave.

"Your boyfriend not hanging around to see you off?" asked the officer as he clicked the cuffs into place.

He received no response. Once again Grissom had retreated into his own, silent, world.

TBC

A/N There, see how quickly I update when I get so many lovely reviews? I think I may be becoming addicted, I always want to have more. Please, click on the button and make a Grissom obsessive happy!


	6. Half Price

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 6**

**Half Price**

Hodges finished briefing Jim on his visit to Grissom two days earlier. Their rota days off having actually coincided they were at Brass' home and it was very early in the morning, the equivalent of mid afternoon for them.

Despite living in Las Vegas for so long, the detective was very much a son of New York State and his décor was more appropriate to a cooler climate, with dark colours and textured fabrics. Now that it was dark outside Brass' small lounge felt cosy and dim, more like a den than a living room. Jim eased back into his overstuffed brown leather chair and nursed a glass of scotch. He drank less now than he had in the past but he was always thankful that he'd never plunged over the edge into alcoholism. It meant that he could still take a drink when circumstances demanded it, without fearing the consequences. Tonight circumstances definitely demanded it.

"It doesn't sound as though Gil's coping at all. I thought that stoic, self-sufficient side of his would be an asset in there but, from what you're telling me, he seems to be just switching off entirely."

"He's complaining of not being able to think, that's what worries me." Hodges was sitting in a chair identical to Jim's, the only other seat in the room besides the four dining chairs around the table on the other side of the room, sipping a mug of coffee and wishing he didn't have to drive home later. "I mean, if Gil Grissom stops thinking, he stops really being Gil Grissom."

"Yeah, it's worrying me, too. Gil's always been the sort to try and deal with his problems by himself, withdrawing from the rest of us 'til he's good and ready. Problem is, this time it sounds like he's withdrawing from himself as well, and that might mean he's never gonna be ready to come back." Jim's next sip of whisky turned into a gulp as he contemplated his friend's situation.

Grissom sat up suddenly. He must have fallen into one of his trances again, and then made the transition into sleep without being aware of it. He groped for his watch, it was a little after three a.m., he should be asleep, he just didn't want to be. Ever since he'd discovered Laura McCain's body his subconscious had been making links between her, Debbie Marlin and his Sara, and despite Vincent Lurie's reappearance as a witness against him, there was nothing tangible to connect the three other than a coincidence of age and maybe appearance. Until now he'd comforted himself that Sara was safely out of all this and it was only his imagination adding her to the body count but, after Hodges visit, he felt less certain of that. He did have one advantage over the PD and the FBI though; he knew _he_ hadn't killed her.

Gil felt an ironic smile slip over his features. He really must stop thinking of her as _his_ Sara.

For a while after she had gone he'd allowed himself to be optimistic, they were engaged after all and she'd never said she had stopped loving him, but as time passed he'd tried to mentally prepare himself for the worst, (or what he'd believed to be the worst right then). He'd started to entertain the possibilities that Sara might never feel she'd managed to lay her ghosts to rest or that, when she did, he would no longer be the kind of man she needed. He'd even found a logical reason why that might happen. Now he was aware of Sara's past he'd realised why she might have been drawn to him when they'd first met. Having lost his own father early on in his life, Grissom too had spent time searching for a father figure, in his case it had been Phillip Gerard. As the first older man to take a real interest in her (academic) development, had he filled the same role for Sara, without either of them realising it until now?

And even if that weren't true, Grissom thought, as he shifted to lie back down on his bunk, things had to be over now. He'd be over sixty by the time he got out of here, and she'd be in her forties. He'd barely be able to support himself, he'd never be a CSI again, his pension had disappeared with his job and his fall back position of teaching was out now too. He'd be on parole until he was in his late seventies, and what college would let him near their students with an unspent murder conviction hanging over his head?

All that aside, Sara would not be half the CSI she was if she didn't at least entertain the possibility that he might have killed someone. Even if she dismissed it in a moment, it would always be there and, with Sara's history, it would be enough to break them.

Three more hours until the lights would come back on. Desperately hoping that the morning would bring some distraction, Grissom tried to rid his mind of thought again and hoped his remaining hours of sleep would be dreamless.

At Jim Brass' home silence reigned.

Two very different men who barely interacted at work and had nothing in common except that small contact and a mutual concern for Gil Grissom, it was proving impossible for Jim and David Hodges to have a regular conversation.

"Jim?" David broke the silence hesitantly, "Can you give me an overview of how this all started? It's a lab rat thing that we don't always get the full picture, we just sit in our individual labs, evidence comes in, results go out and not everybody bothers to tell us what the bigger picture is. Thankfully, Graveyard is better than most shifts about that, but Gil's case was handled by Days and those cops from Henderson. I'm glad for Gil's sake that everything was kept so quiet, but I'm kind of in the dark about most of what went on.

"I know about the FBI being brought in to look for Sara because they interviewed a few of us and I managed to get friendly with one of them." David continued, "I also remember the Henderson guys being very interested about Gil having been late getting into work that night, wanting to know if that was something that happened a lot. I told them that it was rare for him to be on time, but when they came back to me after talking to the others I had to admit I meant he was usually early, sometimes by a couple of hours."

Jim managed to smile at that, somehow it seemed to exemplify both Hodges and Grissom at once. Taking another sip of whisky followed by a deep breath he looked up at the ceiling for a moment.

"OK. I'll give you the broad strokes of the things as I remember it going down, after that maybe we'll find something specific to put under the microscope, but that's pretty much up to you, you're the detail guy."

Hodges responded with a lifted eyebrow, attempting to look nonchalant about what he took to be a compliment. Ignoring it, Brass began to speak.

"You know this whole thing reminds me of a case Gil and I had years back, it may even have been before you joined the Lab. It started out as a missing person, then it looked like murder but in the end it turned out to be one nasty accident and a whole bunch of dumb coincidences. The girl's parents just couldn't accept it, really lashed out at Gil. Still, that's not the story you want me to tell.

"Shift had barely started that night when Dispatch called me with a possible homicide, but when I got there it turned out to be a home invasion, and the perp. had disappeared within moments of the householder realising he was there. I found out later that the informant, a next door neighbour, had made a comment about someone 'screaming blue murder' and the newbie who took the call took it literally.

"Anyway, I didn't have many cases on for a change, none of them was urgent and the householder, Laura McCain, was in a real state, so I decided to hang around, deal with the preliminaries and hand her over to someone more appropriate when Day shift came on, that way she might not feel she was being messed around too much."

Brass stopped for another sip of scotch before continuing.

"So, next thing I called Dispatch to have a CSI come out and look at the point of entry, and a while later Nick Stokes arrived. He didn't wind up staying long, came up to me about twenty minutes later, said something had come up and he had to leave, but that Grissom was gonna come out and take over. Because he'd been late getting to the Lab. Gil was the only one who wasn't already on a case.

"At the time I thought Ms. McCain was doing pretty well, a homicide Captain and a senior CSI turning out for a home invasion with no actual contact between perp. and vic. and the perp. hadn't even had time to take anything.

"Still, the lady was pretty shook up, so I took a preliminary statement, then suggested she stay at a hotel for the night, maybe call her doctor to get something to help her calm down. Told her to go to the PD and give her full statement in the morning."

"Of course that's not what happened in the end."

Hodges nodded, his green eyes fixed on Brass' face as he listened intently to the detective's story.

"It was an hour or two later, the case wasn't enough to keep either of us busy for the whole night, and Gil was in my office while we checked through the paperwork before signing off some old cases. I got a call from the desk, apparently Ms. McCain had decided to come and give her statement then, rather than have it on her mind until the morning. Gil and I were pretty much finished, so he decided to join me in the interview room, just in case Ms. McCain came up with something he needed to look into.

"I think some of the Henderson guys were suspicious that Gil had shown such an interest in a simple witness statement, but you know Gil, every case gets the full Grissom treatment, big or small. Still, they were right about one thing, it was just a simple witness statement, and nothing new came out of it. At the end I was going to call a uniform to escort Ms. McCain out, but Gil said he'd do it, as he was headed out that way to walk back over to the Crime Lab.

"At that point I didn't expect to see Ms. McCain again, I even managed to finish the paperwork on her case and dropped it on a day shift detective's desk so the could take over when they got in." Brass sighed, then took another, large, drink from his glass before getting to the climax of the story.

"About six a.m. I got another call from Dispatch, possible homicide, same address as before. I queried it at first, thinking the newbie might have messed something up on the computer and ended up entering the same call twice, but I was told it was definitely a new call, taken by a more experienced Dispatcher and that the informant was very credible, and he was."

"Grissom?" queried Hodges.

"Yeah. Like I said, when Gil's on a case you get the full Grissom service, I think it's pretty rare for him_ not_ to return to a scene at some point. For once there was an officer on site, making sure the place was secure until Ms. McCain could get a locksmith. He went in with Gil to make sure the place was still clear, but Gil apparently spotted something and wandered into the bedroom without having the officer check first. When he realised Ms. McCain hadn't just changed her mind about sleeping in a hotel he called me and sent the officer outside to make sure nobody contaminated the crime scene. Normally standard procedure, but in this case about the worst thing he could have done."

The criminalist in David Hodges spotted it at once. "Grissom not only discovered the body, but was left alone with it too. Please don't tell me that the CCTV of the two of them leaving the PD parking lot was the last time she was seen alive."

Jim nodded grimly, "You guessed it. When I pointed all that out to Gil he recused himself from both the home invasion and the murder cases, but it was already too late. He'd ticked pretty much every box on the 'prime suspect' list. Then, when 'two reliable witnesses' came forward with a motive, the physical evidence didn't seem to matter any more."

"And with Gil's skills, plus the time he had alone with the body the prosecution could claim any forensics might have been tampered with, either to hide Grissom's own involvement or to put someone else in the frame." Once again Hodges' sharp mind managed to hit the nail on the head.

This time the silence in Brass' lounge was almost companionable, as the two men shared in their understanding of how deeply unlucky their friend had been.

TBC

**A/N **Unlucky? Or something else? And will Gil's luck get even worse in the future?

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, it's great to hear from you all, I really like it when people give examples of stuff they particularly liked, but one liners are welcome too. Just click on the button, please.


	7. Price Fluctuations

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 07**

**Price Fluctuations**

The day had started pretty well for Grissom. For the first time since he'd arrived at the prison he'd successfully completed an order form for items from the prisoners' canteen list. Previously his addled brain had had difficulty dealing with the multiple small decisions about what he wanted to buy and even if he'd managed to finish that before his form was due to be collected, his attempts to work out the cost and if he could afford it had been hopeless. Until now, he'd been fortunate in his life and had never needed to worry about how much money he could afford for small items and, despite having worked on the Crime Lab's finances successfully for several years, he was beginning to think that small scale accounting must be some complex form of mathematics that he'd somehow missed when he'd been skipping grades at school. Trying to decide what he wanted to buy with three or four dollars a week had been beyond him.

He was lucky to have so much. His isolation prevented him from doing regular prison work, and it was only the intervention of his lawyer that had led to the negotiation of a small fee for his consultancy services, something the Sheriff's office had been reluctant to agree to. Eventually they had, but the rate had been calculated to be comparable to normal prison wages when averaged out over how long he was likely to be incarcerated and how often he was likely to be consulted during that time. His savings on the outside were earmarked for after his release and he couldn't afford to waste a cent, especially as he'd stupidly spent part of his first consultation explaining to Catherine how she could manage without his help.

The order wasn't for much, just more chocolate, after he'd found the bar Hodges had brought him strangely comforting, plain crackers and a small jar of peanut butter. The latter items were in response to instructions from the medical officer who had seen him after his migraine had stopped him from eating several meals. Now when he requested migraine medication his cell lights would be dimmed immediately and he would not be disturbed with any meal deliveries until he told his guards that he felt well enough to start eating again. However, once he'd decided he was ready for food, he'd still have to wait until the next scheduled meal was due, so the MO had told him that it was his responsibility to make sure he bought some food to keep in his cell for when he needed it.

The little triumph of being able to hand over the correctly completed form had given him enough of a boost to try something else. He'd looked at the crossword book which had been part of his package from Amazon, the contents of which had been left virtually untouched since they'd arrived. Griss had even managed to concentrate for half an hour and fill in a few clues. It had pleased him enough that he was willing to overlook the fact that it had taken him rather longer than he would have expected for a "ten minute warm-up" puzzle.

Next had been cell inspection. Grissom never had a problem with the procedure, whatever else had happened to him, his natural tendency to cleanliness and order remained unchanged and, with so few possessions, the clutter which had occasionally threatened to overwhelm his home and office was not an issue here. One of the high points of Grissom's week was the day when cleaning materials were brought to his cell for him to use, the simple acts involved in keeping his small living space hygienic were a release for both his mind and his body.

Today hadn't been a cleaning day, just a simple search for weapons, contraband and anything which might contravene 'health and safety'. It was another occasion when the guards appreciated having 'James Price' in their charge, and the officer who was keeping an eye on him while his colleague performed the inspection was happy to talk, even if he wasn't expecting much of a response.

"I hear you're going on a little trip today."

Gil wasn't surprised he hadn't been told anything until now, he wasn't exactly 'in the loop' any more. It would almost certainly be to a crime scene, any other consultation would take place in the prison itself. The idea excited him, and he broke his silence.

"Do you know what it's about? Where I'm going?"

"Hey," the officer appeared amused by the prisoner's sudden interest, "do I look like I'm your social secretary? All I know is we're to be ready to escort you down to be processed as soon as transport's arranged."

Left alone in his cell again, Grissom had speculated on what the crime scene might be, and hoped that being back in the field, even for a short time, would allow his brain to function properly again. His small achievements so far that morning gave him cause to hope. It was only as he was letting himself be chained before leaving his cell that he began to realise that his mind had already started playing tricks again, blocking out things that he hadn't wanted to contemplate. If he wasn't even allowed to move around inside the prison without these restrictions they weren't exactly going to be waving him off on his 'trip' in the back of a taxi cab. By the time he and his escort had begun to move down the corridor of the segregation wing, James Price was back in a walking trance.

On arrival in 'processing' he'd been ordered to strip. Next he'd been searched, as had his clothing, although only his underwear was returned to him. As Grissom was quickly dressing again, his cheeks flaming, and aware he'd have to go through this again on his return, someone quietly came into the room behind him. By the time he turned around the person was gone, but the officer in charge pointed at what they'd left behind.

"Put those on. Make sure you do all the fastenings and laces properly, you won't get a chance to make adjustments later."

Grissom hesitated aghast, again aware that his brain should have warned him, it wasn't like he'd never dealt with a prisoner at a crime scene before. Heavy black work boots sat next to a folded orange overall.

"Price!"

The shout made him jump. Aware that he must have 'phased out' again, he picked up the coveralls and put them on. He didn't want trouble, and he wanted to be fully dressed in front of this man, whatever the clothing. Despite that, as he put on the distinctive uniform and laced up the boots, he couldn't help thinking that he might as well have 'inmate' tattooed across his forehead.

Then the officer passed him the cap. It was a standard black baseball cap, except, in bold white letters, the word 'INMATE' was printed on the front.

"Make sure you adjust that properly. It's not your escort's job to keep it putting it back on for you, and I advise you not to upset your escort."

Grissom fiddled with the cap, wondering why it should matter to his escort if it didn't fit right. Then he heard the clink of chains behind him and once again his brain provided him with information it should have released much earlier.

A sudden and unexpected feeling of claustrophobia closed his throat and it took all of Grissom's willpower just to stand, hands clasped behind his neck, and obey the commands he was given while the various chains were adjusted and locked into place around his waist and ankles. Finally his wrists were secured in cuffs that were linked by short chains to each side of the one fastened around his waist.

-----

Brass looked down from the peak where the body had been found towards the impromptu parking lot which was the nearest any vehicle could get to the site. The white transit van with the Department of Corrections logo had been parked there for five minutes now but, since the two men from the cab had walked towards the rear doors to be met by the uniformed officer Brass had assigned to bring them up, nothing appeared to have happened.

As Jim reached for his cell to try and find out what was happening, it rang of its own accord. After listening for a few moments, Brass hung up, then told Catherine he had to go down, something was 'up' with the prisoner. Grumbling a little about having to make an extra trip there and back over the rough terrain, the detective headed down to the van.

Brass was very concerned about Grissom, but took his time walking down the hill, trying to create an aura of annoyance at being messed around. It wouldn't do Grissom any good to turn up looking too worried.

"Are you Captain Brass?"

"Yeah, wanna tell me what the problem is, I don't spend my time hiking through the desert for the good of my health you know."

"Prisoner's refusing to leave the vehicle, sir. I thought of asking a couple of your guys to help lift him out, but looking around I guess he won't be much use to you unless he's co-operating, so I thought we'd better check with you first."

Brass peered into the back of the van. It had been converted for prisoner transport by installing a cage in the rear compartment, inside which were four seats set in pairs facing each other across the interior of the vehicle. At first Jim couldn't see Grissom, but then he noticed a flash of orange behind the right hand pair of seats. Now he knew where to look he could just make out the lower half of a pair of legs with the knees pulled up. A glint of light highlighted the cuffs around Grissom's ankles.

"How'd he get in that position?"

"He fell, sir," answered one of the guards, looking sheepish, "It's not unusual, prisoners get caught out by the fact that the length of stride transport chains allow is only about half what they get when they are moved round inside the jail. I was keeping a grip on him, but instead of tripping and falling forwards like they usually do, this guy went sideways onto one of the seats, catching me by surprise and making me fall too. By the time I'd sorted myself out he'd managed to roll off the seat and wedge himself down there. He hasn't moved or spoken since."

"I'm betting he did it deliberately," the other guard added in support of his colleague.

Brass was sceptical about that, but didn't bother to argue the point.

"I'm gonna get in there and talk to him."

"OK sir, I'll come in with you."

"No, I'd like to do this alone, I've spoken to him several times and he knows me, maybe that will be an advantage." The guards looked doubtful. "I have negotiator training, I'll be fine." No need to mention that last time he'd done any negotiating he'd wound up being shot.

"Well, if you're happy to do it." Brass stepped toward the van, but the guard stopped him.

"What now?" Brass' appearance of exasperation was no longer faked.

"Your weapon, sir, its regulations, no-one is to go near the prisoner while armed. Brass sighed, but, after noting that the guard who had been with Grissom when he fell was himself unarmed, he complied, removing both the gun and its holster from his belt, although he made a point of passing them to an LVPD officer to take care of, not one of Grissom's guards.

Finally climbing into the van he entered the cage; announcing himself to 'Price' and telling the prisoner it was OK to call him Jim. This would cover any slips Gil might make as all indications so far were that his friend was not his usual rational self.

"Gil?" he continued, much more quietly, "Are you OK?"

No response.

Brass could see Grissom better now, but still couldn't make out his friend's expression. At some point the cap and glasses Gil was wearing had slipped to obscure his face. Jim figured that it must be annoying the hell out of the scientist.

"I'm just gonna get rid of that hat and take your glasses off. Don't worry, it's just you and me in here, so, unless you decide to start yelling, no-one can see or hear you right now.

Despite what Jim had said Gil still flinched when the detective's fingers touched him, as though he hadn't heard a word.

Now that he could see his friend's face, Jim was reminded of something his daughter, Ellie, used to do when she was very young. If the little girl was frightened of something she would do her best to physically shut out the world enabling her to pretend it didn't exist. Grissom wasn't able to block his ears with his hands, but his eyes were screwed tightly shut and his lips were folded inwards and tightly compressed too. Looking down, Jim could see that Grissom's hands were clenched into tense fists. Brass almost expected his friend to be holding his breath too but instead Gil was breathing like he'd just run a leg of the police desert relay race.

"I know you're not good at this kind of thing," Jim resorted to humour as much for his own sake as Grissom's, "so I'll give you a clue. This is the bit where you open your eyes, say 'thank God you're here, Jim' and then tell me what the problem is. When you've done that, then we try and decide what to do about it."

Still nothing. Jim was seriously worried now. "Come on, Gil, at least do me the honour of looking me in the eye when you're ignoring me." he paused, "What, you don't think I'm funny any more?"

Despite knowing Grissom's unease about being touched, Jim laid a hand on one of Gil's knees. "Come on, pal, I'm looking right at your face, just give me something to let me know you can hear me.

Just as Brass was thinking he still wasn't going to get a response, Grissom managed a tight, jerky, nod.

Jim let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding; at least he wasn't just talking to himself.

"OK Gil, that's a good start but, you know, I'd kinda like to get to the bit where you talk to me soon. You see I thought you'd be in more of a hurry to get out there, fresh air, sunlight, nice stale corpse with lots of creepy crawly things, the perfect Grissom day out. Yet you're holed up in here. So, are you gonna give me a clue?"

This time the abrupt head movement was negative.

Jim sighed, he had already abandoned his police negotiation training in favour of his experience as a parent, but he still had no idea how to proceed with his friend, who seemed to be intent on doing his best impersonation of a sulky five year old.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose he decided to talk to Grissom in a way he would not have got away with normally, in the hope that his friend would react as he usually did when their conversations took on a personal tone and either interrupt to try and change the subject or, better still, attempt to leave as quickly as possible.

"You never make it easy for your friends do you Gil. Yeah, I know it's not deliberate, I'd have given up to you long before now if I thought it was, but there's something in you that just won't let you talk about how you feel, let alone ask for help, and at times like this it's as frustrating as hell. If this was anyone but you I'd throw my hands in the air, tell Cath she was just going to have to manage without your help and then watch the guys out there haul your ass back to jail." He looked at the closed off man before him. "For all I know that's what you want."

Grissom didn't react, so Brass decided to assume the answer was negative. "Good, because that's not what I want to do either. You're not in my custody, Gil, I can't order your guards to remove those chains or offer you a CSI coverall instead of that orange thing you're wearing, but I am in charge of this case and the PD personnel out there. Between Catherine and I we can do a lot to make things better for you even if we can't do it directly." Remembering what Hodges had told him about Grissom's perception of Catherine's visit, Jim quickly tried to reassure his friend. "You know Catherine, Gil, she may be feeling a little unsure of you right now, but she's not vindictive, she wouldn't want to see you tortured like this. Please, just say something."

Grissom's mouth opened slightly and he took in a breath. Jim actually felt himself lean forward in anticipation, but then the breath was expelled through Gil's nose in a deep sigh, the mouth closed, and Grissom's head drooped.

"That was a good start, Gil. Wanna give it another try? Maybe this time you could get some sound to come out." Brass stopped, hoping he hadn't made a mistake, he'd meant that light heartedly, as an attempt to jolly Grissom along but, in his present state of mind, might Grissom have taken that as sarcasm or a sign that Jim was finally running out of patience?

It seemed not. Finally Jim could hear Grissom's voice, although his friend's head remained tilted down.

"Knew if I opened my mouth this would happen. Got to keep my eyes closed. Don't want them to see me, don't want them to know. Can't stop it. Don't want Jim to see." Gil's breathing was more ragged now, and it sounded to Jim like the man was talking to himself. The detective responded anyway.

"What don't you want me to see, Gil? I've been here for a while now, I know how different you look and I can see what they've done to you today. Is it something to do with your eyes? Because you know I've seen those before."

"Not like this. Never like this." Grissom spoke in between gasping breaths as, finally, he lifted his head.

Brass watched as Grissom's eyes slowly opened, revealing rims and whites so bloodshot they clashed with the blue of the irises. As if the eyelids had been acting as flood defences, water began to spill and run down his cheeks.

Gil Grissom was crying.

A/N Wow, I think I need to have a lie down after that. Trying to write Grissom behaving out of character whilst keeping it _in_ character is a bit of a nightmare! If you can think of a way I could have done better please feel free to review and say so. Otherwise please be kind to my fragile ego and review anyway. The button's just down there somewhere.


	8. A High Price to Pay

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 8**

**A High Price to Pay**

Initially Jim had tried to dab away some of the moisture flowing down Gil's face, but Grissom was unwilling or, Jim suspected, unable, to accept that kind of contact, even from his best friend. Instead he had curled away from Jim's ministrations, sobbing quietly into the corner of the van's cage for several minutes. All Brass could do was wait, and he took the seat nearest Grissom while he did so.

Jim had hoped that today would give him the opportunity to ask Gil a few casual questions about what had happened on the night of Laura McCain's murder, but now, as he looked down at the back of the weeping man's head, he realised the best that he would achieve that day would be simply getting Grissom through it. At least now he finally seemed to have cried himself out, although the odd snuffling noise indicated he was still having problems with a blocked nose.

Jim Brass had done many strange things in his time, but attempting to help a grown man blow his own nose wasn't something he'd tried before. He'd been relieved when Grissom had mumbled "just give it to me," and then taken the handkerchief in one fettered hand. After that Gil had contorted his neck and shoulders, managing to just about reach and attend to his problem himself, sliding further into the narrow gap between seats and cage in the process.

"How're you feeling now, Gil?"

"Tired. Uncomfortable."

"Maybe you'd feel better if you got up and sat on one of these seats."

"Can't."

"You can Gil, it's still only me here, there's no need to be embarrassed about anything in front of me."

"Didn't say wouldn't, said couldn't." came the muffled and, yes, embarrassed, voice, "I'm stuck."

For a few minutes Brass tried to free his friend, who was now wedged at an awkward angle facing the wall and was unable to help dislodge himself without the full use of his arms. Grissom being the larger of the two and the awkward angle worked against them, and Jim soon realised he couldn't do the job alone.

"I'm gonna have to get some help here, Gil." As the detective rose to go and fetch one of the prison officers he heard Gil's voice.

"Jim, you do know I didn't do this deliberately, don't you? I really did fall, and then the next thing I knew I was down here. I don't even remember thinking about moving."

"It's OK, Gil, as soon as the officer said you'd fallen sideways I knew it was that knee of yours giving way, I guess it's harder to compensate for the weakness with your ankles cuffed like that." Brass bit back a quip about bow legged men finding it easier to walk with their ankles close together because, although he and Gil had used off colour humour to defuse awkward situations in the past, he was intelligent enough to know that, right now, it wouldn't help at all.

The exchange over with, Jim quickly fetched an irritated looking guard.

After a little manoeuvring Brass and the prison officer were finally able to slide Grissom out. Together they lifted him bodily, placing him down on one of the van's seats. Jim quickly put Grissom's glasses back into place for him as they were no longer alone. Meanwhile the guard began to strap the seat's safety belt into place. The belt was clearly designed for use on chained prisoners, as well as fitting over Grissom's lap it formed a cross over his upper body, the straps passing between his arms and sides and buckling at his shoulders where he couldn't reach to free himself.

Seeing the look of sadness and betrayal in his friend's eyes it was clear Gil thought Jim had decided to send him straight back to prison after all.

"Why're you bothering with that?" Jim asked, partly because he wanted Grissom to know he had nothing to do with it.

"If you want me to leave him alone while we have this 'meeting' of yours then I want him secure. He can't hurt himself or anyone else like this, or get himself wedged into any more corners either."

Jim couldn't think of any argument against this and remained silent as the guard double checked all Grissom's restraints before turning to head out of the van.

"He must be real valuable to you guys for somethin' if you're goin' to all this trouble over him. Can't see it myself, he's clearly completely gaga."

It probably hadn't helped that Grissom's escort had entered the van earlier to find out what was going on and had seen how emotional the prisoner was; fortunately Gil had been too wrapped in his own misery to notice.

Turning to check his friend's response to the comment Jim finally got to see for himself how Grissom was 'coping' since his incarceration. The lack of emotion in his expression might not have been unfamiliar to those who knew him, but the lack of animation in his empty gaze surely was. Although apparently enthralled by something about the seat directly opposite him, breaking Grissom's line of sight had no effect. Speaking his name got no reaction either, Gil just wasn't in there. Only a touch on the arm brought Grissom back to reality.

Gil looked around, clearly confused by his escort's absence, and then a look of unhappy realisation appeared on his face.

"How long was I away for?"

"Couple of minutes maybe, I'm not quite sure when you 'left'." Jim hoped it was sometime before the guard questioned his friend's sanity.

"Last thing I remember my escort said something about a meeting?"

"Yeah, just before you started to... you seemed to be worried about being seen. So I thought I'd talk with the prison guys and Catherine and work out the minimum number of people that have to be around while you do this. Do you think that would help?"

Gil looked uncertain for a moment, but, after thinking briefly, he nodded.

Grissom's eyelids kept fluttering closed and then reopening as he struggled against the tiredness he was feeling now that the adrenaline from his emotional outpouring was wearing off. Spotting that, Jim suggested that Gil let himself doze while Jim was trying to organize things. There wasn't much else Grissom could do, so he agreed and, by the time Jim had left the van, his breathing had already slipped into the deeper, slower, rhythm of sleep.

"I wouldn't do this for any other prisoner, but we need him right now. He's obviously unwell and disconcerted about facing what's up there after all this time. While he's behaving like this I want the minimum number of people possible anywhere near him." Jim tried to pick his words carefully, so that they spoke a different message to Catherine, who knew exactly why Gil was there, than to the men from the prison who had no clue, but probably assumed it was connected to James Price's own crime.

The more senior, armed, member of Grissom's escort looked around. "Are these the only vehicles in the vicinity?" Jim nodded. "And the four riflemen that the Warden requested are here?" Again Jim nodded, although it sickened him to think that the men had instructions permitting them to shoot if 'Price' attempted to abscond. Not that Gil would, even if he weren't so thoroughly hampered by his bonds. Grissom had a strong sense of honour. He had accepted his punishment for whatever reason, and now he would serve the sentence, even if it killed him. 'And if it does, it will be from the inside out,' thought Brass.

"If your men can cover a perimeter say a quarter mile away, and protect the parking lot to make sure he doesn't have access to the vehicles there, then I'm prepared to have just the marksmen on him once he's where you want him. My partner and I will stick with him until he gets there, and then stand back as the Sheriff requested."

Jim was grateful that his boss had remembered that it was necessary to keep any prison officers away from Grissom, so that his identity wasn't given away while he worked.

"Ms. Willows, can you trim down your team, maybe deal with this part of the investigation by yourself?" Brass kept things formal for the sake of his audience.

"I can manage without a couple of my guys but I have a trainee who could really benefit from observing this, I want him to stay." Catherine had obviously caught on to Brass's attempts at doublespeak. Brass had also been pleased to see the brief change in her expression when he'd mentioned Gil was 'unwell', she still cared enough to be concerned at the thought.

A teaching role might well help with Grissom's problems, so Brass, aware that Catherine was referring to Greg, assented.

With this agreed Catherine and Jim pulled out their radios to arrange their side of things, while the prison officers had a brief discussion with the four marksmen regarding the strategy for guarding the prisoner.

Vega, who was Brass' sidekick on the case, dismissed the uniformed officers to their newly assigned posts, and then led the other detectives down from the hill. Bemused, Nick and Warrick followed them, leaving an even more confused Greg temporarily in charge of the victim's body.

Once everyone was in their new positions and over an hour since he'd arrived in the prison transport, Grissom began his shuffling journey across the desert, his escort on one side and Brass on the other. The armed prison officer followed a few feet behind. Jim had made sure he was on his friend's left, ready to take his weight if his knee gave way, and hoping he could use his physical contact to prevent Gil losing awareness again.

Nick and Warrick observed the group's slow progress.

"You figure he can't face us any more, 'Rick?"

"Well, I'm finding it hard enough seeing him like that, it has to be worse for him. He always kept himself so private, must be hard knowing he's the centre of attention. And not the good kind of attention either, dressed like that."

"Yeah, well maybe he should've thought of that before he made his 'private' stuff so public. Man, he killed a woman, I am glad I don't have to work with him. I hope I never do again."

Warrick was stunned, he still hadn't managed to figure out for himself whether he believed Grissom was guilty or not, but seeing his mentor struggling to even walk under the burden of his captivity, all he could think about was how Grissom had saved him from going down a path which could have put Warrick in jail himself – more than once, in fact. The man had risked his own life to save Nick's, nearly getting blown up, _twice. _Surely the Texan had a little doubt over Grissom's guilt, a little compassion for the father of their little CSI family.

"How come you're so convinced he did it? And what about everything he's done for us, Man?"

"Nothing makes up for deliberately takin' a life. As for pleading 'No Contest', well it's one thing on some minor driving offence when it could cost you more just takin' time off to go to court than it would to just pay the fine, but on a class 'A' felony? My Dad always said guys who did that were just tryin' to weasel out of paying compensation to the vic's family. He has to sentence them as if they've pled guilty, but he reckons he finds it tough not to come down harder on them. I reckon Grissom got off lightly. Do any other murderers get days out to do a job they love?"

Warrick could see some of the points Nick was making. He also understood Nick's feelings about the matter a little more now he was reminded of the Stokes family tradition of law enforcement both on the streets and in court.

Warrick didn't have that kind of family background, didn't have that kind of family. For most of his life his only real family had been his Grandmother and, later, the friend and father figure that was Gil Grissom.

Finally Grissom reached the top of the hill. He'd stumbled a few times, but between the men on each side of him he'd managed to avoid falling. His knees were feeling the strain though, and he knew it would be even worse that night, when their throbbing would make it difficult to sleep.

Surveying the hilltop, the senior escort officer checked if 'Price' was going to be doing whatever he was there for inside or outside the yellow tape. Catherine confirmed it would be inside and the officer waved to his partner indicating Gil should enter the cordoned area now.

"OK, Price, I don't know what you're supposed to be doing here, or why it's so secret, but me and my partner have orders to move away while you do it. So we'll make this simple. You see those four guys?" He pointed the four marksmen out to Grissom. They were stationed on nearby hillocks, approximately evenly spaced around the main mound; between them they had a full view of the crime scene area.

"I'm going to radio them now. Once I've done that, if you step one foot outside this taped area before my partner and I come to get you, they will shoot you. Got that?"

"Got it." Gil knew there wasn't going to be a problem, he had no intention of trying to escape, and his fetters would stop him from moving easily enough to wander out of the area accidentally. Still, seeing four weapons being aimed at him in response to a radio call wasn't exactly pleasant.

"Gil? Gil? Are you ready to look at the body?"

Grissom shook himself, somehow the guard who had been speaking to him had morphed into Catherine. Another time lapse. Still, who could blame his brain for disliking the idea of being shot?

Behind Catherine was a nervous looking Greg.

"I'm going to send Greg on the course you suggested, but we can't spare him for so long until the shift is back to full strength. I was hoping you could give him some on the job training in the meantime." Catherine paused, aware that Jim thought Gil was ill. "That's if you feel up to it, of course."

"I think it's more a case of if Greg feels he can work with me." Looking pointedly down at his chained wrists he added, "I'm going to have to tell somebody what to do, it may as well be him."

By now Greg had realised why Cath had kept him at the site while dismissing his more senior colleagues. He ran back to where the CSIs had stockpiled the equipment they were using to process the complex site, and then returned just as quickly with a large silver equipment case, which he set down beside his own, smaller, one.

"I've got your kit here, is it OK if we use it? It has more bug hunting stuff than mine. I'll look after it really carefully and restock it afterwards..." Greg almost trailed off, but then carried on talking. "But then I don't suppose it matters you're not going to be able to use it properly for a while, or maybe at all, ever again. But then again maybe... 'cos you're going to be coming out to scenes like this and..." He looked up and saw his former boss' expression. "Oh God, I'm sorry Griss, I haven't done that running off with my foot in my mouth thing for ages now. It's just that it makes sense to use your kit for this, if it doesn't bother you too much, and of course I will clean and restock it, because it makes sense to keep it as an intact entomology kit, whoever uses it doesn't it?"

Grissom almost smiled as he agreed. Having a nervous Greg around felt like old times, it was so much better than dealing with the angry one that blamed him for Sara leaving. Strange that Greg should actually be less hostile after recent events. Of course the nerves could be down to Greg being afraid that Grissom might try and kill him, but beyond the occasional, perfectly understandable, urge to throttle the young man, Grissom had never had such an intention.

It was clear that to get much real information from the body forensic entomology would be vital. The challenge, plus the idea of passing some of his knowledge on to the always eager Greg was just what Grissom needed to help him cut through his 'fog'. Now he just had to deal with one, or rather two practical issues.

"There is one problem I have with overseeing you, Greg. I need to get down there to watch you work and if I try and squat down like this I'll probably topple over and thoroughly contaminate everything. Unfortunately my knees are already sore just from getting up here, I don't know how long I could stand to kneel on this rocky ground."

Fortunately Greg's quick wits found a solution, the Graveyard CSIs had been out at the site before daybreak and Greg still had the thick padded jacket he'd been wearing to keep off the desert's early morning chill. Carefully he folded it and laid it on the ground in front of his former boss. With Jim's help Greg assisted Grissom into a kneeling position with a good view of the corpse.

Jim was relieved to see the young CSI's compassion for his mentor. Perhaps Greg's own brush with a potential murder sentence had had an influence.

"Ok Greg," Grissom began at last, "today you get to be my hands."

A/N Sorry this one took so long, I got distracted by another piece I'm writing. (Note to self - two pieces at once NOT a good idea.)

Anyway this chapter is longer than most, so I hope that partly makes up for it.

As usual, reviews would be much appreciated, they always give me a buzzz.


	9. Priced Out of the Market?

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 9**

**Priced Out of the Market?**

As Brass drew up outside Grissom's house he saw a thin, dark clad figure loitering in the shadows. Nobody could do inconspicuous quite as conspicuously as David Hodges.

Jim beckoned David over while he unlocked the door and then disabled the alarm.

"You go on in and get the coffee maker going, I'm just going to bring in Gil's mail."

A few moments later Jim was back, calling through the door, "While you're nosing around in there see if you can find where Gil stashes his glove supply. I could do with a medium sized evidence bag too." Despite both items being available at the lab for CSIs to restock their kits, Brass had no doubts about Grissom keeping his own personal supplies at his home.

Hodges tried to pretend he hadn't been taking advantage of his first ever visit to his idol's home to poke around, but it was surprising how quickly he rejoined Jim with the requested items, particularly as they were kept in Gil's basement work room. The kitchen where Hodges _should_ have been was easy to find, being separated from the bright living room only by a glass shelving unit.

Brass was still in the process of clearing out Grissom's mail box, something he'd been doing regularly since his friend's arrest. This time he'd asked Hodges to meet him at Grissom's so that they could talk while he went through the other tasks he had to do in his role as 'caretaker' of Gil Grissom's life. He doubted Gil would be happy if he found out that the lab rat had been wandering around his home, but right now he was too deeply concerned about the man's mental health to worry about his foibles about privacy.

"What have you come across?" Hodges asked, trying to see over Jim's shoulder.

Jim couldn't miss the opportunity, "Gil gave me strict instructions regarding the disposal of _Reader's Digest_ prize draw invitations." he answered, his face completely straight as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and carefully reached into the metal box.

Hodges looked at him strangely.

"He wants me to shred them, and then send the paper for recycling. This however, needs far more careful treatment." Gently, he slid the rectangle of cardboard into the protective plastic of the evidence bag.

"It's a postcard," he told Hodges unnecessarily, before adding, "from Sara."

And those two words made all the difference in the world.

"I could take that into the lab tonight and have Ronnie in Questionable Documents go over it. It should be fingerprinted too, even though it's probably been handled by too many people as it travelled through the mail system to give much useful information." Hodges reached for the card eagerly.

Jim kept it out of his reach.

"No, this is too important. It won't clear Gil of the murder he's been jailed for, but it should put an end to any suspicion that he might have done something to Sara. We can't risk processing it before passing it through official channels, it leaves us wide open for accusations of tampering."

"But it doesn't make any difference. Even if you hand it over to the detectives from Henderson they'll still send it to our lab for processing. The crime lab may be in Clark County, but it serves most of Nevada."

"That would still be better than doing the processing first, at the very least that would look like we were only going to hand this over if the results came back in Gil's favour. No, we have to trust that this gives us the proof we need and hand it over untouched. Besides, I don't want to pass this over to Henderson PD. They may not have the same sheriff as us but the two forces are so close geographically that theirs and ours need to work smoothly together. I'm pretty certain our sheriff pushed for Gil's case to be cleared up quickly to avoid a scandal, and I don't want the same pressure to mess this up."

"So, what's the alternative?"

"The PD requested that the FBI look into locating Sara. Let's pass this 'new lead' directly to the Bureau. That way we reduce the chances of someone else's agenda getting in the way of the truth."

"Ok, that makes sense; but I still need to see it." Hodges stated his hand still outstretched. "I'll be seeing Gil soon and, when I tell him what's happened, he'll want to know what Sara said."

Jim wasn't sure if it was his own bias against the man before him but, as Hodges finished speaking, he thought he saw a brief look of triumph as the man came up with the perfect reason to read Grissom's personal mail. Jim flipped the card over and angled it so that only he could read it. He'd reacted to secure the evidence as soon as he spotted the uniquely shaped curve of the letter 'S' in Sara's signature. He hadn't bothered to read the message then, but wanted to do so now to check he wasn't passing over something too private for Hodges' prying eyes.

"_Gilbert,_

_We seem to be caught in a game of dodge ball. I told you that I need to choose the time of our calls so I can be strong when I hear your voice. Now it seems you feel the same. Maybe I'm wrong and you're just caught up in some murder case that means you can't get to your 'phone. Either way, all I ever get is your voice mail and I'm sorry, but I can't talk to you using that._

_So I'm sending you this to let you know I'm OK. I'm still travelling around, still seeking a way forward._

_Please understand, my dearest Gil, wherever I go, whatever I experience, my home, my foundation, is in the exact same place where you are now._

_Sara."_

Jim looked up from the few lines and kept the emotion off his face as he looked back at Hodges. Placing the bag and its contents carefully into the inside pocket of his sports jacket he shook his head. "Let's not get his hopes up. I don't think he needs to know about this just yet." Jim also didn't want his friend to hear Sara's message while Grissom was so mentally fragile. The most positive thing about her choice of words was that she clearly had no idea of Gil's current situation.

For a moment Hodges looked ready to argue with the older man, but then shrugged and let Brass have his way. Together the two men re-entered the house. Hodges finally set to work on mastering Gil's coffee maker while Jim went round the property checking things were OK, opening some of the windows, watering plants, and attending to those members of Grissom's personal menagerie that still remained after Brass had found accommodation for those which needed attention more frequently than every few days.

Once the coffee was in production, Hodges went in search of the detective. Although Jim had dealt with some of the more perishable items, doing the few bits of washing up and getting rid of the trash, the house still had the aura of sudden abandonment, a _Marie Celeste_ with small signs that the place had been abandoned suddenly and unexpectedly. A partly read book lying on a chair; a now out of date _TV Guide,_ open on the coffee table, with the remote acting as a paperweight; a dog toy half tucked under the couch.

David eventually found Jim going through a file cabinet at one end of Grissom's work room, which seemed to double as an office. Taking a seat at a nearby circular table, he scanned the area. Hodges had only just located this room when Brass had called him back to the mail box and hadn't had chance to look around except to grab what was needed. Now he examined things visually as he waited until the coffee was ready.

After a few minutes David spoke up. "Jim, can you take a look at this? I think someone may have broken in."

Brass looked over to where David was pointing. One wall of the room was lined with a worktop, shelves filled the space above it, and below was a long line of cupboards. The door of one of these, which appeared to have been reinforced, had been snapped off its hinges and was now hanging off the hasp that had been keeping it closed, the combination padlock which had been securing it still in place.

Jim grimaced. "Yeah, someone broke in all right, made a hell of a mess of the front door too. I got that fixed, but there didn't seem much urgency to deal with the cupboard as they took everything that was kept in there."

"And has anyone been caught?"

"Oh, I know who did it, David, it was the detectives on the McCain case. They had a warrant and I'm sure Gil would have given them his keys and the combination for the lock if they'd asked, but they preferred to do it this way, while they had him at PD for questioning. The chemicals they found in there were the clincher, one of them showed up in the murder victim's tox screen. As soon as they found what they wanted here Gil was arrested."

"I thought the cause of death was supposed to be exsanguination from a neck wound, where did chemicals come into it?"

"There were no signs of a struggle on the victim so they checked for any kind of sedative or other chemical restraint and came up with chloral hydrate."

"But chloral hydrate possession is restricted by the DEA." Hodges' brow furrowed as he tried to understand what had happened.

"Yeah, and as one of the few private individuals in Las Vegas to hold such a licence Gil's name kind of stood out when they checked the records. In case you're wondering," Jim pre-empted David's query, "Gil used it for his entomology work, something to do with mounting insects for study."

Leaving David to muse a little on the implications of what had just been said, Jim went back to the paperwork he'd selected and slid them into a folder ready to take with him when he left. Notified that the coffee was ready by the smell wafting down the stairs, he headed back up to the main living area. Hodges followed close behind.

Soon the two men were seated in Grissom's lounge, continuing their conversation.

"Isn't it possible she was prescribed a sedative with chloral hydrate as an ingredient?" Hodges asked Brass, leaning back in his chair and half closing his eyes as he applied himself to Grissom's case.

"I raised that with the inquiry team, apparently there was nothing to indicate that. No medication was found in Ms McCain's flat and nothing was entered on her medical records. Plus the amount in her body was so great it had to be a deliberate overdose, it would be virtually impossible to take so much accidentally. Her neck wound was only the C.O.D. because she bled out fast. The chloral hydrate would soon have put her in a coma which would then have killed her if she hadn't been found in time."

"Then surely we need to ask why whoever poisoned her would bother stabbing her?"

"I think if Gil were here he might say that we'd only be speculating. Without the perp for me to question we'd be guessing without any evidence to work from."

"So we work from some evidence. Do they have the weapon?"

"Oh yeah, and it doesn't help Gil one bit," groaned Brass, rubbing a hand over his face. "Weapon was an old fashioned nail file, you know the sort, metal, with a point at one end and a handle at the other. A couple of the vic's friends confirm it was hers and that she carried it around in her purse. The nail file was fingerprint free and the only trace was the vic's blood and some fine fingernail shavings caught in the ridges of the file which were apparently hers too. However, there were some finger prints on Laura McCain's purse and some of the items in it." Jim paused, more from unwillingness to accept what came next than anything else. Taking a deep breath he finally went on. "Those that weren't hers were Gil's."

For the first time Brass could remember, David Hodges used an expletive.

"Method, opportunity and, with what those witnesses you told me about had to say, motive. No wonder they arrested him. If I didn't know the guy I'd be pretty sure it was him too."

"There are too many damned coincidences. How can we prove it's just chance that Gil seems to be implicated? No-one else seems prepared to consider his innocence." Brass' concern for his friend since he'd seen his mental state at the desert crime scene was making it hard for him to think calmly about the situation.

Hodges looked back at Jim from under hooded lids. "In some cases that's because Gil doesn't seem to be considering it either, and if he doesn't change his mind enough to agree to an appeal then anything we do will be a waste.

"You are definitely right about there being too many coincidences though." He leaned back in his chair steepling his long fingers. "I think we need to revise our search parameters."

"Meaning?"

"We're not just looking for who really murdered Laura McCain; we're looking for the person who framed Gil Grissom."

A/N There, I promised I wouldn't take so long this time. As usual all and any reviews will be appreciated, but constructive comments are best of all. If nothing else I could do with help regarding my summary. I phrased it as I did because I want it to be a shock to realise who the prisoner Cath is visiting is, but would I get more interest if I just said that Grissom's in jail? Is it time for a change ? Please click the button.


	10. Beaten on Price

**Chapter 10**

**Beaten on Price**

Grissom felt a gentle breeze pass over his scalp. A few days earlier he'd noticed that his hair was already getting long enough to be showing odd tufts that might give away its naturally curly nature. He'd asked about a having it cut and had finally got a response this morning when his escort had made a detour on the way here to the exercise yard. Now he was sporting the shortest clipper cut available and it felt a little odd.

For the first few minutes of his ninety minute exercise period Grissom simply prowled around the caged area. His guards leaned against the wall just the other side of the gate, chatting to each other whilst keeping a vague eye on their charge.

Twice a week he was brought here to the 180 square foot area with its concrete floor and high, chain link, fence. Twice a week he wondered what to do with himself while he was there. It was one of the draw backs to his level of segregation, with no-one to talk to, walking around seemed both boring and faintly ludicrous and jogging or running on this surface would jar his aging joints. The only equipment provided was a basketball and hoop, and Gil had been laughed at more than enough for his miserable failure to shoot baskets at high school. He had no reason to think his skills would have improved in the intervening decades of not even attempting to play sport, and he wasn't about to entertain his guards for the next hour and a half while he failed spectacularly at it again.

Idly he kicked at the ball as if it was a soccer ball. Of course he hadn't been any good at that game either, so he didn't bother trying to control the ball, just kicked it at the fence so it bounced back to him. Then he kicked it again, harder. And again, _harder_, and again _**harder**_.

Soon his fear, frustration and growing sense of bitterness had him locked in a cycle of kicking, walking to where the ball had come to a stop and kicking it again, each time trying to make the noise it made on contact with the metal fence louder, in the hope it would block out the roaring in his ears.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Why was it that old family law firms always seemed to have ancient offices and even older partners?

The room Jim Brass was sitting in seemed to predate Bugsy Siegel's arrival in Las Vegas and the man sitting behind the desk looked old enough to have been Grissom's grandfather's attorney.

"It seems that, as a lawyer, one sees all the highs and lows of one's client's lives."

_The man even talks like he could have voted for Teddy Roosevelt_, thought Jim, as the rambling speech continued.

"It doesn't seem very long ago that Doctor Grissom was preparing for marriage. He meant to sign over half his house to his intended on their wedding day, such a romantic gesture. He also had me prepare an updated Will to mark the joyous occasion."

Jim might have been amused by the lawyer's idea of romance, but the mention of Grissom's Will reminded him of Gil's preparations for going to prison, when his friend had sat calmly in his cell at the PD and given Brass detailed instructions on the dispersal of his pets and property. _Calmly, or in the first stages of his current withdrawal? _Jim wondered with the benefit of hindsight.

The elderly attorney was still talking, "Then, only a few weeks later, or so it seemed, he cancelled all the work and transferred medical power of attorney from his fiancée to you. We were very sorry to hear of his, err, disappointment.

"Of course you're now here because Doctor Grissom has granted you full power of attorney regarding his finances and possessions during the period of his incarceration." The man shook his head, a sorrowful look on his face, "Second degree murder. I'm not just speaking as Dr. Grissom's lawyer when I say I find it impossible to believe that he actually performed such a heinous act."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Suddenly Grissom felt himself being grabbed by both arms and half carried backwards until he was pinned firmly with his back against the barrier surrounding the exercise yard.

"I said 'calm down,' Price." one of the prison officers told him as, for a moment, he blindly struggled, wanting only to get back to the ball.

Coming slowly to himself, Grissom's movements gradually came to a halt and he found himself staring fearfully at the man who was speaking to him.

"Back with us, Price?"

Gil nodded, unspeaking.

"Remember, exercise time is a privilege, abuse it and you lose it. Don't make us come in here again before your time's up." The man nodded at his partner and they released Grissom and left the yard again, taking the abused basketball with them.

For a minute or two Grissom remained standing with his back to the mesh, head down and breathing heavily. Then he walked to the centre of the yard and lay down on the hard floor.

He spent the remainder of the time staring up at the open sky above him and focussing only on the gentle touch of the air and sun on his face.

Eventually a shadow eclipsed Grissom's face.

"Time to go Price."

For once Grissom had been thinking while he lay staring upwards, and he'd realised that the guard had been generous in not taking him straight back to his cell earlier.

"I'm sorry about what happened," he told the man, "I didn't intend to cause trouble."

The guard raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised at receiving the apology. Looking at his charge appraisingly he responded. "No, somehow I don't think you did. Still," he continued as he took Grissom's hand to help him to his feet, "I think we should have your hands safely behind you on the way back. Don't you?"

The question was clearly rhetorical as he was deftly spun round and the second guard locked the cuffs into place with well practiced speed.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Jim was stirred to wakefulness by the lawyer's comment. "So, if you don't believe in his guilt, why did you let him plead 'no contest'?" he queried.

"Yes, I was a little puzzled by the decision to go with 'Nolo Contendere' too, but one has to assume that the attorney representing Dr. Grissom was doing what he felt best for his client. As that gentleman would have more access to the facts of the case than I, I would have to assume that either there was something prejudicial that I am unaware of, or that Dr. Grissom simply insisted on going down that route. However much advice one gives, one is always tied by the client's instructions."

"So you're saying it wasn't you that represented him?"

"Neither I nor anyone else in this firm, Captain Brass. We're only a small firm and limit ourselves strictly to family law, wills, divorces, child custody and the like. We do, however, have an agreement with another small firm who have made their specialisation criminal law. If any of our clients get into trouble they are often in considerable distress, they call us automatically and, while we cannot help them ourselves, we are happy to pass on their details and they in return seem grateful to have the recommendation. If one is in police custody no doubt one would prefer to go with trusted advice than search the telephone directory or enter the lottery of being assigned a public defender.

"Now, let me see." The lawyer looked through the file before him. "Ah, yes, here it is, Doctor Grissom did call us once he'd been arrested and his details were passed on. I'm sure we'll be able to deal with everything you need to know regarding Dr. Grissom's pecuniary affairs here, but if you do want to contact the other firm my secretary will let you have the information. They are relatively new, but all the partners there are very experienced, I assure you.

"Now, shall we get on with what you came for?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

As the prisoner and his escorts made their way along the jail's grey corridors, Grissom was concentrating on his steps again. Having his hands chained behind him was making it harder to balance and a couple of times already he'd found himself nudging against the officer holding his left arm. The last thing he needed right now was for this to be seen as deliberately awkward behaviour, so he was concentrating on every step.

_Must _step _remember_ step _when _step _Hodges _step_ next _step _comes _step _to visit _step _to ask _step _him to _step _order _step _me a _step _book on _step, wobble, compensate, step _Tai Chi _step _it would _step _be something _step _to do in _step _the yard _step _and it _step _might _step _help _step _me control _step _my emo..._

"GRIII-SSOMMM!"

The screeching roar so distorted the sound that Gil only registered it as a word because it was his own name. Until then he'd barely noticed the other prisoner being escorted down the corridor towards him. The youngish man was clearly considered a lower risk than Grissom and was not in close custody. Only one man was escorting him and, although the inmate was handcuffed, his legs were not shackled.

For a moment it was like an old slapstick comedy, with people looking everywhere but where they should. The three prison officers were seeking the cause of the prisoner's strangled yell, while Grissom was checking to see who else might be close enough to hear and have cause to look at him twice.

While this was going on the other inmate took the opportunity to elbow his own guard in the stomach, making the man release his grip and gasp for air, unable to call out. Grissom, his head now swinging back to it's start point, was the first to realise the other inmates intent, but secured as he was and still gripped by his two escorts there was nothing he could do as the world slipped into slow motion.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Once his business with Grissom's lawyer had been dealt with, Jim started to wonder why Gil had gone down this particular route to find an attorney when he must know the names of the best defence lawyers in Las Vegas by heart. Why didn't he choose one of them? Was 'considerable distress' the major factor? Out of interest he took the details of Grissom's representation from the secretary and glanced idly through the list of partner's names. As a homicide Captain, Jim had come across most of the defence lawyers practicing in the area over the years, but one name on the list stood out clearly.

_Interesting,_ he thought, _I must look into this further._

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Struck dumb by fear, Gil watched as his assailant swung at his head with a two handed blow, twisting his wrists at the last minute so that it was the cold steel of the handcuffs which came into contact with Gil's face first. The sudden, solid, impact would have sent Grissom flying had he not been held, but it was unexpected and the prison officers' grasp wasn't tight, his momentum was only reduced a little before he was pushed out of their hands. He staggered backwards, his feet became hampered by the chain between them and he fell.

His awareness splintered and time speeded up again into a blur of impressions. The stinging, intense, pain in his face was followed by the sudden hurt in his lower back as he hit the ground and his own handcuffs dug into his spine from the power of the impact. Next there was an explosion in the back of his head as it hit the wall, causing his vision to tunnel and blur. Then something began to hit him repeatedly in the side, but by now external sensation was beginning to fade.

Grissom tried to escape the fresh assault, pushing himself backwards with his feet, not realising in his addled state that his head was already against the wall. He tried to roll onto his side or curl into a ball, but his movements were too restricted and he failed. In a last attempt to avoid further harm he opened his mouth to plead with his assailant but found himself spitting out blood instead of words. As the sound of ringing bells, running feet and shouting began to fill his ears, Grissom finally gave up fighting and, whether it was the blow to his head, or his mind checking out once more, he ceased to be aware of his surroundings.

A/N OK, that was nasty, but I promise that, physically at least, this is the worst that Grissom will be suffering in this story. Of course you don't know how badly he's been injured yet evil laugh. The next chapter will be up in about a week. In the meantime I'd love some reviews! Thanks.


	11. A Costly Price

**Chapter 11**

**A Costly Price**

"Sorry about the wait, Captain Brass." said the prison officer, while managing not to appear very apologetic. "I've just had a call from the segregation wing. Apparently it's taken a while to get your Mr. Price out of his cell, but they've managed to assemble a three man escort for him now and he'll be with us pretty soon."

Jim had been surprised to be steered into an office rather than being taken straight to the interview room to see Grissom. The prison usually managed to have the inmate to be questioned ready and waiting by the time he got there.

"A three man escort?" he queried. "What's he done to warrant that?" Jim managed to maintain an aura of casual curiosity, as if he were merely chatting to pass the time.

"The guy from seg. just said Price required it. I guess you can ask the guy himself, if you really want to know." The sound of footsteps and the chink of chains was now audible outside. "Wait here while we get Price settled. I'll come get you when we're done."

As he waited, Jim checked the file he'd brought with him. He wanted to get the queries regarding the results from the desert body out of the way quickly, so he would have plenty of time to speak to his friend concerning other things.

Even as he walked into the room where Gil had been installed, Jim had the file open and was refreshing his memory of the first question. As soon as the door closed behind him, he began to speak.

"Hey, Gil, I've got the entomol... oh my God, what the Hell happened to you?"

A single, weary looking, blue eye met Brass' gaze. The other was almost lost in the mess that was the left side of Grissom's face. The skin there was almost entirely a mix of blues and purples, throwing into contrast the four white steri-strips which sat in a neat row just where the curve of his cheekbone would have been visible had that part of his face not been swollen almost beyond recognition. To Jim it looked horrifying, although when Gil had looked in the mirror that morning he'd been pleased to note that the bruises were an almost textbook shade for three day old contusions, and that the swelling had, at last, reduced enough for him to open his eye, even if it was only to a thin slit.

"You look terrible." Jim stated the obvious.

Grissom attempted to joke that he hadn't had to worry about being recognised while on the medical wing, but it might have worked better if he wasn't having trouble speaking intelligibly.

Carefully, Gil reached for the plastic cup which sat on the table before him. He still ended up wincing, and wishing he wasn't handcuffed so that he could hug himself against the pain. Brass, who was gazing at his friend's injured face with horrified fascination, looked to see what had caused the sudden grimace. The top few buttons of Gil's uniform shirt were undone and Jim could see bandages through the gap.

From the rattling noise it made when Grissom moved it, the cup contained ice chips and it seemed they helped a little. After sucking on one for a few moments Gil's voice was a lot clearer.

"Stitches inside," he said by way of explanation and indicating his mouth. "I'll survive Jim. I'm already back in my usual cell."

Jim closed the file he was still holding and placed it on the table before sitting down opposite Grissom.

"Does it hurt to talk?"

"A little. Ice helps. Getting pain killers too." Clearly Gil was trying to keep his sentences short.

"Sorry to push this buddy, but you didn't answer to my question. What other injuries do you have and how did it happen? Did someone recognise you?"

Grissom nodded. "Some kid. I didn't recognise him. He spotted me fast somehow. Caught guards out and went for me, used cuffs for maximum damage. My head hit the wall, he started kicking me. Blacked out for a couple of minutes." He paused long enough for another ice chip. "Two cracked ribs, strapped, cuts on cheek, outside and in where blow forced flesh onto my teeth, few bruises on back. You can see rest." The report was full, succinct and dispassionate; _pure Grissom_, Jim thought.

"Speaking of seeing, is your eye damaged?"

Gil shook is head. "But still getting checks in case of infection. Was lucky, no bones broken in face, so no op. needed."

"And the kid?"

"Segregated until he's moved to another jail."

Jim nodded and was silent for a moment. He was relieved that Grissom's injuries were of a type that would heal relatively quickly and have no long term effects, but he could also feel a growing anger that they'd happened at all. He watched as Gil took more ice.

"What do you need?" Grissom asked when the frozen water had had its effect but Jim still hadn't spoken.

"I need you out of here."

Gil just looked blank. That wasn't going to happen and Jim knew that, so why bring it up?

"I was going to leave this until after the 'official business' was dealt with, Gil, but this is more important. I want to ask you to change representation."

Still Grissom just looked at him, his good eye squinting in confusion.

"Get another lawyer Gil." Jim clarified, wondering if the blow to Grissom's head had speeded up his friend's apparent intellectual deterioration.

"Why? I've been sentenced." _What good would a lawyer do me now?_

"Because I don't believe your current lawyer did enough for you, he wasn't exactly a high flyer, was he? I think new eyes might be able to help you, make you safer at least, and perhaps get you out of some of this so called deal. Who knows Gil, maybe you have grounds for appeal." Jim didn't want to go into details at this stage, but he had reason to believe that Grissom's attorney had not been working in his client's best interests. He certainly wasn't the best lawyer Gil could have afforded. Brass also needed to get his friend to register intent to appeal, without it; most of the evidence regarding Laura McCain's murder would remain stored and out of his and Hodges' reach. He intended to introduce the idea gently, almost as an afterthought.

Grissom shrugged, then regretted it. Once the pain from his ribs eased he shook his head instead.

"Forget it Jim, made my decision, made my bargain. An appeal would break it. Can't risk that. No judge would agree anyway." A twinge of pain struck him and Grissom quickly tipped more ice into his mouth before finishing more strongly, "'No contest' means 'no contest', you don't get to change your mind".

"It's not much of a bargain is it?" Brass pointed out, frustrated that Grissom seemed to have latched onto his mention of an appeal and was using it to reject the whole idea. "If you agree to go to prison for the next ten years, _minimum_, we'll attempt to prevent you getting killed by one of the people you helped us send to prison. And by the way, we expect you to come out and help us send a few more to jail whenever we say."

Jim's tone had been rising, now he reined himself in. He continued in a gentler voice, "You still got hurt Gil. This deal isn't working for you. You need to get a better lawyer if it's only to talk about that."

Gil reached up to rub his forehead, he looked tired.

"I had six weeks without a single threat. It started in less than two days in the PD cells. As for this," he indicated Brass' file, "I thought working would make prison bearable. It seemed odd they thought it was only their gain. My lawyer jumped in for me then, Jim, whatever you might think of him, he actually got them to agree to pay me. I grabbed the deal after that, before they realised how much I wanted it."

"The reality was different though." It was a statement from Brass, they'd both been in the transport van, and they both knew what the trip had cost Gil.

"The Department of Corrections has a duty of care, Gil. Even without this 'deal' they have to take steps to protect you from harm. If you hadn't agreed to be on call to the Sheriff you'd probably have been moved to serve your term in an out of state prison by now. This whole arrangement stinks and you need to have a better lawyer take a look at the whole thing, up to and including the possibility of appeal. No one can deny you the right to take legal advice Gil."

Grissom just shook his head and stared at the table in front of him.

_Damn,_ thought Brass, feeling his frustration beginning to build again, this time directed at Gil himself, _how does he do it, he seems like he's given up completely, but he still manages to be stubborn about it._

"I'm doing this because I'm worried, Gil. I'm worried that I'm gonna get used to seeing you in chains, I'm worried that I'm going to have fewer and fewer excuses to come and question you, but that it still won't be safe to visit you the regular way. Seeing you like this worries me that you won't survive ten years in jail without permanent injury. Most of all, Gil, I'm worried that the man I come to collect on the day of your release, and I _will_ be there, whenever it is, won't be Gil Grissom any more, but James Price, a guy who only came into existence to help you survive in here and who'll be unable to function in the outside world.

"Even now I feel like I'm watching parts of you slowly disappear, I'm worried that eventually there will be no Gil Grissom left."

Grissom didn't even bother to look up as he responded in a way which chilled Jim's heart.

"I think he may have gone already. Which part of Gil Grissom do you think is left? The, so called, genius whose brain keeps switching off? The respected entomologist without anyone's respect? The experienced CSI who'll never work in a lab again? The teacher no college would let near its students? Sara Sidle's fiancé, perhaps?" Grissom paused, taking in a shuddering breath. "Or maybe the guy who always told his team to follow the evidence. Until it led to him."

Quietly, Jim Brass interrupted, "You're still my friend. It might not be much, but it matters to me. Gil Grissom is still my friend."

A/N You'll have to wait for my next posting to see how this interview continues. It could be a week again I'm afraid. Please write plenty of reviews or I may have to hurt Griss again, as that seems to be the best way to get people to comment.


	12. A Bargain Price

**Chapter 12**

**A Bargain Price**

Grissom had been carried through the long speech he'd just made by the momentum of his feelings, but it had cost him. He raised his hand to his cheek as if to cup it and somehow soothe the pain that way, but stopped just short of touching the bruised and tender skin. Instead he rested his fingers on the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed and brow furrowed as he waited for the sharp sting to subside.

Jim went to the door and asked for more ice and possibly drugs for his interviewee disguising his concern as annoyance that he couldn't get coherent answers from Price.

Returning to his position Jim removed five business cards from his jacket and dealt them in front of Grissom as if they were about to play a hand of poker. Gil, his right eye open again, looked up, puzzled.

"These guys are all willing to represent you, free of charge if necessary. All you have to do is pick one, call them and tell them they can talk to me about the case. I'll brief them and then they'll probably want to come here and see you themselves."

Dully, Grissom stared at the cards and Brass realised that his friend didn't have his glasses. They'd probably been too uncomfortable to wear over Gil's swollen face. Pointing at each card in turn, Jim read the names aloud; they were all high powered Vegas defence attorneys.

Gil's reaction was unexpected; he flipped from lassitude to anger in a moment.

"You talked to these men about me? They know where I am, what I'm supposed to have done? You just told me you're my friend, Jim, but you just betrayed me, took away my privacy, my anonymity, my safety. These men loathe me, their clients hate me even more and you just had to hand me to them on a plate. You don't believe I'm innocent at all, do you? You've just been leading me along, making me believe you care. What do you have arranged with these guys? Are they going to try and persuade me to give up my deal and then bet on how long it is before I wind up on Al Robbins' slab?" Once again it was the pain from his mouth that finally forced Grissom into silence. Jim however was just warming up.

"Safety! What safety! You don't look real safe to me right now." Jim moved forward to make it harder for Grissom to avoid looking at him.

"I didn't betray you, you... God, your brain really is misfiring isn't it? You think I'm stupid? 'Cos I'm not and neither are these guys. Everything was kept quiet after you got your 'deal', but you were indicted under your own name, even though you were allowed to use a video link instead of appearing in person. The judge put a reporting ban in place but that couldn't stop internal court gossip, those guys seem to make up for not being able to discuss things with outsiders by putting extra time into talking to each other and word of what happened must have spread like crazy. When no-one saw or heard from you afterwards, even at trials of cases you'd worked on, it didn't take a law graduate to work out what had happened. Every one of these guys came to me, not the other way around, and I haven't confirmed or denied anything. They just gave me their cards and said to call any time you needed them. Not one of them has a clue which prison you're in or what name you're using."

Jim paused briefly to pinch the top of his nose, but it didn't allow him to think straight like it usually did.

"Why are you refusing to defend yourself, _Grissom_? Do you believe that you deserve this in some twisted way? What the hell is going on with you?"

By now Jim was leaning toward the prisoner in front of him, his knuckles resting on the table between them.

"As for hating you," the detective captain continued his voice growing harsh, "yeah these guys hate you all right. They hate you appearing in court against their clients. They hate having to disprove anything you say, because you're damned good at what you do and when they see you in court they know they're doomed from the start." Jim chose this moment to stop and draw breath; in the sudden silence he heard a whimper.

Only now did Jim realise that his anger and the nature of the situation had made him slip into interrogation mode, his tone and stance had become threatening as he used his body language to oppress the inmate before him. Sheer frustration had blinded him and all he'd seen was the blue uniform and handcuffs and Grissom had become depersonalized, in spite of the very personal nature of what he had been talking about.

Now Grissom had his hands raised in front of his face as if expecting a blow and appeared to be looking for rescue from the men outside the window. The guards were ignoring it, they seemed to trust Brass more than his old friend did right now.

There was another moan from Grissom, who seemed to have reached a state somewhere near panic. Jim started to reach toward his friend, but then thought better of it as Gil cowered back, looking as though the chains which held him to the floor were all that was stopping him from going to hide in the corner of the room. It wasn't just Brass who'd allowed the normal, easygoing, nature of their relationship to slip from his mind.

Jim stepped back, and then eased himself into his chair keeping his body language as open as possible. He had to get Grissom to calm down before the ice he'd asked for arrived and Gil used the opportunity to ask to be taken back to his cell.

"Gil, it's just me. I'm sorry I frightened you. I just wanted to get through to you."

Gil had lowered his hands when Jim retreated, but is breathing patterns and the expression visible on the uninjured parts of his face still betrayed his fear.

"Cup your hands over your nose and mouth, Gil, you're nearly hyperventilating. That's it, just breathe nice and slow, you know the drill, just use your hands like you would a paper bag." At least Grissom was listening to him enough to follow his instructions.

"Gil, I really am still your friend, I always will be, whatever you think. Please, just tell me, what are you so scared of? Is it what I did, did you really believe I was going to hurt you, or is there more?"

Gil was still trying to control his breathing and Jim took the opportunity to apologise once again for his menacing behaviour, explaining that he'd become frustrated and lost control of himself.

"Now you know how I feel." The words came out slowly and evenly spaced. "I guess David told you I chewed him out like that too, when he visited me." In fact Hodges hadn't breathed a word.

"I'm losing control Jim, I get mad at the very people who try to help me and my 'absences' are changing. The transport van was the first time I'd actively done something while I've been out of it, but it's happened a few times since. I should have been better able to protect myself from being attacked, but I'd had an episode during exercise. I got pretty wild and, although I'd calmed down by the time we left the yard, my guards decided it was safer to cuff my hands behind me instead of in front. I'm really losing it Jim; and the fear..."

Grissom physically jumped as there was a tap on the door followed by a guard bearing a new pot of ice. "Sorry", the man said to Brass, "he's not allowed more pain meds for another two hours; they don't want to risk him ODing." The man left and Brass pushed the ice towards Grissom who took a healthy amount, his good eye closing briefly as he felt the numbness return.

"You wanted to know why I made the choice I did." Gil began again, "Sara is gone, Jim, and the moment I was arrested everything else that defined me disappeared. I thought..., I thought by taking the deal I'd at least get some of that back. I needed to get out of the PD cells fast too, and a nice quiet cell in segregation sounded just fine. I hadn't slept in three days at that point, between my body clock and the chanting every time I put my head down at night. Gris-som, Gris-som, Gris-som." he repeated almost silently, as if hearing it still.

"Of course the ADA kept telling me it was an open and shut case. It wasn't Maddie, you know, they wouldn't let her work my case any more than they let you. I could see from what my lawyer was showing me that the evidence was pretty tight and any gaps would be covered by my ability to cover my own tracks. He said the odds of me being convicted of first degree murder were over ninety percent and kept suggesting I go with an insanity plea and claim that the stress of Sara's abduction, followed by her leaving me, left me mentally unbalanced. He had a psychiatrist all lined up, but I refused. You remember working a case on a secure mental ward? I wouldn't last two minutes in one of those places. The memories of what happened to Sara that time still wake me up sometimes, just like those of what Natalie did to her. Besides, to make insanity my plea I would have had to lie under oath twice over, admitting to a killing I didn't do and claiming to be insane. I'm not mad am I? Am I? Jim?" There was fear and confusion on Grissom's face as he sought reassurance from his friend.

Jim shook his head, "I think you may have been a little depressed when this was kicking off, Gil, but certainly not insane." In a way Jim felt it was a shame that Grissom hadn't agreed to see a psychiatrist. Some insight into Gil's mental state when he'd agreed to the plea bargain could have been useful, but Gil's health had clearly deteriorated since, could an evaluation made now see past that?

"OK, Gil, I'm starting to see why you went with the plea you did." Grissom was neither immortal nor particularly young, if he'd gone to trial and been convicted then he could easily have got a more severe sentence than the one he had agreed to, and all the possibilities for that would have meant spending the remainder of his life in jail. If Grissom's mental defences were down through depression, anxiety, lack of sleep and the loss of identity resulting from the stupid rule that meant you could no longer be a CSI if you'd ever been arrested, _even if later found to be innocent_, he'd have been laid open to the suggestion that he had little option but to agree to a deal, even if his 'honour' had still been strong enough to insist on a 'No Contest' plea, rather than a 'dishonest' guilty one.

"My next question is why won't you let go of this deal? I don't see the DOC or Sheriff's office putting much effort into their side of it." Was this Gil's misplaced honour too? Sometimes Jim wished Gil's mother hadn't raised her son so damned_ right_.

"Don't you see? I need this deal more than ever now. God knows how the guy who did this recognised me, but he did, so someone else could too. Wherever the kid ends up, you can bet he'll brag. Most of his audience will dismiss it as make believe, but others will ask questions. When I regained consciousness after his attack they were calling my 'name' to try and rouse me. The Warder says that, if the guy heard, it would help persuade him that he was mistaken, but he may have realised that it was an alias and pass the information on. Word will get back here one day, and people will know to look for me. Until now, the very fact that they don't expect to see me as an inmate here has been as much of a disguise as any change to my appearance. That's not all, either. According to the report on my attack, the guards didn't hear the guy's yell as a name of any sort. The whole incident was put down as a random assault. The Warder came to see me and he accepted my side enough to segregate and arrange transfer for my attacker, but, other than my word, there's no proof that this was anything to do with who I am and maybe I misheard. You know that segregation only keeps this man apart from the other prisoners but what has he said to the staff? Might they know who I am now? If so, will they see me as a 'cop gone bad' and have a go at me themselves? Whatever happens I'm going to need all the protection I can get."

Something dawned on Jim. "The three man escort. I was told it was something you 'required'. They meant that literally, didn't they? You demanded it, not just because it gives you more protection from the inmates, but because it's less likely that three guards will all agree to allow an 'accident' to happen to you than two."

"Pretty much, except I'm in no position to demand anything. I just refuse to move for a smaller escort. As prison regs. require a minimum of four guards to pick me up and move me forcibly, it's easier for them just to agree to one extra man."

"So, the risk of this happening again is huge and you need all the help you can get?"

Grissom made a noise of agreement.

"So get a decent lawyer. If the one you choose is worth his salt, he'll be able to help you decide between sticking with the deal, hoping it will protect you in a dangerous situation, re-negotiating the deal to something more sensible, or taking the risk of trying an appeal which may get you out of here altogether. Remember, all these five people are wealthy and willing to work your case for free, they have nothing to gain from giving you bad advice."

"Except you just told me that they hate me."

"Yeah, my chain of argument got broken at that point didn't it. If you remember I was actually saying they hate you _appearing against them,_ because you're so good. What I was going to add is that they actually think you're a pretty great guy. Yeah, it struck me as weird too." he teased Grissom, gently; "They say it'sbecause you're always straight forward, the evidence is the evidence and whatever it says is right. You've never tried to put a particular slant on anything to misrepresent or tilt things one way or another. Many of these guys say that they would have bought you a drink, but you were always rushing away from court either to get home for some sleep or to go back to whichever case you were working on. Please, Gil, give one of them a chance, listen to what they have to say. If you don't like what they advise then you don't have to agree to anything, but please listen."

Again Grissom raised his hands, but this time it was in mock surrender. Blindly he pointed at a random card. This guy, I'll call this guy. Satisfied?"

"Yeah," said Jim, smiling with relief, "yeah, I am."

Brass checked which name was on the card, then slipped it into Grissom's shirt pocket. "I'll call him later today; let him know to have his secretary put through any calls from 'James Price', a prisoner I recommended him to. He may guess I mean you, but he won't be sure. You ring him tomorrow. As soon as you become his client then he has to give you confidentiality. Tell him to talk to me and then we can work from there. OK?"

Gil nodded, his mouth full of ice, he'd talked too much already and he was worried he might not be able to speak well enough on the 'phone the next day.

Jim had one more thing to add. "Don't take this wrong Gil, I'm asking as a friend. Please do me one more favour and ask to see one of the prison psychologists, maybe they can help with your absences."

"It's OK, Jim, I'm already seeing someone. The guys who escorted me to the crime scene mentioned my 'odd behaviour' in their report on the trip. It rang alarm bells and I've been seeing someone ever since. She's OK for someone into 'soft' science."

"And is it helping? I guess it's difficult to talk freely when you're pretending to be someone else."

"Only these stitches are stopping me talking freely." Grissom half joked, with an accompanying grimace. "Originally the only prison staff to know who I am were supposed to be the Warder and Associate Warders. The Warder insisted that he could extend that to senior medical staff, if he considered it important to my safety or welfare. He told the head psychologist and she took over my case."

"Won't that seem odd?"

"Luckily for me she was already doing some research on men who plead 'Nolo Contendere' on class A felonies, I just 'volunteered' for her study."

_I bet she has fun working out what Gil's motivations were_ thought Brass.

"Good, I'm glad you have someone you can talk to regularly as Gil Grissom, it's important.

"I'd better go now, so you can stop talking and let your mouth recover before you make that call."

"What about the entomology report?" Grissom pointed at the brown folder Jim had dropped on the table when he'd first seen his friend's mangled features. "I have to answer your questions. Even if you don't approve of my deal it's the only excuse we have to meet."

"I'm gonna tell the Sheriff you weren't fit for questioning. It will make sure he knows about this if the Warder didn't inform him. It might even prick his conscience, if he's got one. With luck it will give me an excuse to try again in a few days."

Grissom looked doubtful.

"Hey, don't worry, he can check the prison's paperwork if he thinks I'm lying, your injuries will have been reported. I laid things on real thick with the guys out there too, when I asked for pain relief for you. I claimed I could only make out half what you were saying, and if I didn't know you so well it would probably have been true." Jim was thankful that the morality _his_ Mom had taught him allowed him to lie, just a little, if it would help a friend. "Make sure you ask for ice chips when you request the 'phone tomorrow. Now, is there anything else you need? Hodges is coming to visit you next week."

"Actually, yes, can you or he dig out the work boots I used to keep in my locker? I guess they're wherever Ecklie stored the rest of my stuff. Get David to drop them at security on the way in with a note that I've got medical permission to have them."

"You do?"

Grissom nodded. "Remember I was having real trouble walking out at the crime scene? I mentioned it to the Doctor here. He can see I have a genuine problem with my knees, but apparently it's impossible to work out if I'm faking the severity of my limp. That means he can't authorize a longer chain on my shackles, but he's willing to allow me to use my own boots instead of the prison issue ones. They're lighter and, because I'll be the only one using them, the wear pattern will match the way I walk, so my movement won't be thrown out so much.

Jim agreed and they left it at that.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sitting in his car in the prison parking lot, Jim Brass noted the name of the lawyer Gil had picked out and his friends request for his boots. The latter made him sigh a little, he may have persuaded Gil to try a new lawyer, but the man clearly still believed he would be visiting many more crime scenes as a prisoner.

Jim started his car. Time to get back to Vegas. Time to check the results of his covert background checks on Grissom's old attorney and a certain senior partner in the same firm.

A/N In the first season episode _Boom_ where Nick is suspected of murdering a prostitute it is stated quite clearly that he will lose his job if arrested. I don't know if this is a genuine regulation, but I'm using it because it is part of the canon of the show.

A/N2 As you've been so good and written so many lovely reviews I decided not to make you wait a full week for this chapter. It's longer than usual too. I hope you like it and that it answers at least a few of your questions. Anyway, if it does, you know how to express your approval...


	13. Price Matters

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine. (I keep forgetting to mention that, it's not deliberate, just wishful thinking!) Still, if anyone wants to get me Grissom for my birthday next month...

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 13**

**Price Matters**

Brass and Hodges searched the shelves of the store room in the basement of the Crime Lab.

"Over here!" called Hodges, indicating a group of cardboard boxes with his flashlight. Grissom's personal possessions had been transported so deep into the bowels of the building that it appeared that the janitorial department never made its way down there to renew blown light bulbs, and it was almost completely dark.

"This is gonna be fun," Brass remarked, looking at the task before them. There must have been at least twenty of the boxes, all identical and all neatly marked with the word "GRISSOM". Unfortunately that was all, no list of contents, no information on where the items inside had come from and absolutely nothing to indicate which box contained their target, Grissom's work boots.

"I guess we'd better just go through them one at a time and hope we're lucky."

"We could list what's in them as we do it." David suggested.

Brass shook his head, "Great idea, but it would take way too long. Let's just find the boots and get out of here." _Whilst avoiding giving Hodges the excuse to root too deeply through Gil's life._

Grabbing a box each they slit the tape used to seal them and began searching through the contents.

It had taken a lot of effort for Jim to get Conrad Ecklie's permission to remove some of Grissom's stuff from the lab, in the end he'd had to produce the paperwork showing that he had Gil's power of attorney. Instantly Ecklie had changed his point of view; requesting that Brass remove Grissom's belongings from lab property as soon as possible. Strangely the timescale of 'as soon as possible' had increased rapidly when Brass had asked if he could have help packing the small personal library of forensics and entomology texts which had somehow remained in Grissom's old office when all other traces of his friend's existence had been removed.

"Why don't you want to take Gil's stuff back to his house?" Hodges asked.

"Because, if I were to do as Gil wants me to, I'd be packing all the personal items from his place and putting _them _into storage, ready to let the place out. In which case I'd be putting all this lot in storage too. But I can't bring myself to rent out Gil's place until I'm sure we've exhausted every possibility of proving his innocence and getting him home."

"Speaking of which, have you made any more progress recently?" asked David as he neatly folded one of Grissom's old t-shirts which had been stuffed haphazardly into the box he was going through.

"Well, I've confirmed that Alexander Mason, a partner in the law firm that Grissom went to is a cousin of the Andrew Mason who, together with his own client, is one of the witnesses to Gil's 'motive' for killing Laura McCain."

"Sounds suspicious to me."

"Not enough. First, it's too complicated. No-one could have been sure Gil would go to that firm, they may be affiliated to Gil's usual law firm, but who could have predicted that Grissom would be so unaware of other people's opinions of him that he actually believed not one of the leading defence attorneys in the whole of Vegas would be prepared to represent him? Also it would have taken a lot of manipulation to arrange for those two particular law firms to get together just to get at Gil. They've had this arrangement for more that five years, that's a lot of forward planning.

"Second, Grand-Daddy Mason was a lawyer, his four sons all became lawyers and, it seems, the majority of their sons also went into the law. It would be damned hard to find a law firm in Vegas that doesn't employ at least one member of the family. It's a coincidence, but not unique enough to prove anything in itself."

"Ah." Hodges' response was brief, but expressed his disappointment succinctly. He reached for the tape to reseal the box he'd been going through, now packed rather more neatly than it had been originally.

Brass, now halfway through searching his second box, agreed.

"I'd still like to look a little more closely at that firm. I particularly want to go into their policy for assigning representation. If Gil's case had gone to trial the reporting restrictions would almost certainly have been lifted and you can imagine how high profile the case would have been. Most small firms would have passed on a case like that to a much bigger firm. At the very least you'd have thought a senior partner would have taken it on. Instead it went to a sixty-three year old who never made it past senior associate. I'd also like to talk directly to that guy. He may not have done much to keep Gil out of prison, but he did make the effort to negotiate payment for Gil's involuntary 'consultancy' work. Maybe he was being coerced and this was some way of expressing his remorse for what he was doing."

"Could be. I'm surprised you haven't already gone round there to ask. Perhaps I could help by... Oh, no, what idiot did this? Gil's going to be devastated."

_Like he isn't already? _Brass turned to see what Hodges had found. Clutched in David's hands was a small Perspex terrarium. In it, with all eight legs in the air, was an extremely dead looking red kneed tarantula.

Hodges looked almost satanic in his flashlight's beam as he stared at Gil's late pet. "Whoever did it, only one person is to blame for not even having the patience to wait and ask one of Grissom's friends to pack up his stuff properly. I can think of no better place for this lady to 'lie in state' than Conrad Ecklie's desk drawer. Upright and minus the terrarium, of course."

"An excellent idea. I think I can rely on you to make suitable arrangements." Brass' own grin was equally demonic. "Do make sure you retrieve her afterwards though, we owe it to Gil to make sure she's disposed of in a manner more appropriate than Ecklie's waste basket. I wouldn't mention her to him when you visit, though."

"Of course not." Hodges nodded solemnly before setting the Perspex box to one side.

"So, as I was saying, do you need my help with subtly approaching Grissom's former lawyer?"

"I think I might, because you just hit the nail on the head. This guy isn't Gil's _former_ lawyer, not yet anyway. I daren't risk alienating anyone until that changes. I've been expecting to hear from John Morgan, the new guy Gil was going to hire, for a couple of days now, and I'm beginning to worry that perhaps Gil hasn't made the call."

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Too many reasons. At best it's because he still can't speak well enough to be understood on the 'phone, at worst it's because his guards have found out who he is and keep 'forgetting' to bring the 'phone to his cell. The other ideas I don't like are that he might have actually forgotten what he's supposed to do with the business card I gave him, or that he's persuaded himself that it's pointless to bother. I should have made use of that damned honour of his and made him swear that he'd make the call."

"You think things are that bad?" asked David, opening his third box.

"Yeah," Brass responded more as a sigh than a word, "I just hope the prison psychologist knows her stuff and can keep him together until we can get him out of there."

"Which we need to do fast. So what alternate angles can we work on until either you get a call from Morgan or one of us can talk to Gil and find out what he's doing about changing lawyers?"

"OK... First, if the lawyer thing could just be coincidence, can we be absolutely certain that this was aimed at Gil and not just whichever CSI worked the case? Did Nick Stokes get a lucky break when he was called away?"

"No, I'm sure it was definitely aimed at Gil. The chloral hydrate tells us that. You've said yourself it's easy enough to find out that Gil was licensed to keep it, but none of the other CSI's would have access, except to a very small amount that is kept in the trace lab and which no outsider could be sure about. As for the possibility of someone who works here being involved, believe me, my records are accurate, if any of that stuff went missing I would have known at once. Even if someone had managed to grab the whole lot it wouldn't be enough to kill someone. The amount Gil would have held for entomological purposes would be far greater."

When David said his records were accurate Brass believed him. "So that means Nick being called away wasn't luck, it was deliberate. We need to talk to him about that, find out who called him, what the reason was and if it turned out to be genuine. It also raises the possibility that Gil's lateness wasn't just a coincidence either."

Hodges had been down on Catherine for not fully supporting Grissom – until he'd heard Nick Stokes' opinion on his ex-boss' guilt. He was pretty sure that getting Nick's help would take more than simply asking him. Still, Jim knew the guy better than he did, maybe he'd be successful. Ignoring his doubts for now, he went back to Brass' statement "Exactly. Why was he late arriving at the lab on that day anyway? Do you know?"

"Unfortunately that came up in an interview I wasn't able to observe. One of us will have to ask Gil what happened and hope he's able to respond in a helpful way. Otherwise we're waiting on him getting a new lawyer again, and having Morgan make an application to see the case file."

Jim's fifth box seemed heavier than the previous ones he'd lifted. As Grissom's books were still up in the lab, Jim was hopeful that this might be the one.

David taped his own box closed again. "Can't you get your hands on the file without that?"

"No. All case files involving employees of LVPD, whether as victims or suspects are stored separately, in a smaller cage within the main archive, away from prying eyes. I'd soon be spotted if I went wandering around there."

"Let's hope Gil comes through then. It _must_ be probative; he's never late, even less so since Sara left him."

"Actually there was a time when I had to reprimand Gil for being late. Way before your time here of course, when I supervised him. Gil was already graveyard supervisor but I was officially in charge, kind of an extra level between Gil and where Ecklie is now. Any how he would quite often get involved in some experiment he was doing at home, forget the time and turn up a little late at the lab. Usually I'd let it go because otherwise his work was damned near perfect, but sometimes I had to have a few words. Then there was an incident, a trainee died and I took the fall, suddenly Gil wound up with all my responsibilities and I wound up back in homicide. Gil felt just as guilty for what happened to that girl as I did, and between that and his 'promotion'; he took everything a lot more seriously from then on. I started to feel a whole lot better after my move, got less grumpy too, and the powers that be eventually made my old job part of the supervisor's role on all three shifts, saving money for them. I guess Gil was the one who really lost out, the old style supervisor's job suited him far better, and he seemed to enjoy himself much more. You know, he used to walk round the lab with a smile on his face, joked around and was even known to hug people." Jim looked at Hodges, who seemed positively bemused by this description. "I guess it shows that Gil's circumstances have always had a strong effect on him, it's not happening for the first time now. Still, on the positive side, the change in roles improved our friendship no end, working as peers made a big difference for us both."

"And Sara's arrival?" David slid the question in sideways trying to disguise his inquisitiveness.

Brass had stopped rooting through Gil's things for a moment and leaned on the box as he remembered. "That happened at the same time, Gil brought her in to investigate the incident and she never left, well not 'til now. It might have worked better if he hadn't been dealing with his new responsibilities at the same time. As it was, Gil was up, down and sideways when it came to her, until they finally seemed to sort themselves out. I still haven't worked out if the sum effect on Gil was positive or negative. Even if Sara comes back I don't know if it will be good or bad, she sure won't find the same guy she left.

"Which reminds me. I had a call this morning; it's always nice to get woken by the FBI. They've confirmed the postcard that arrived was from Sara and that it was written and posted when Gil was already in jail. They don't know precisely where she is at the moment, but they believe her to be safe. As Gil obviously didn't kill her they've decided it's unnecessary to waste any further resources on the search and they've informed the detectives involved in the McCain case of the same. At least that's one thing cleared up. Let's hope for Gil's sake that she doesn't decide to come back to Vegas and find him in this situation."

"I know. He was very anxious about that the first time I visited him. At least we can put his mind at rest that she's safe now. If you tell me the message on the card I can pass that on too."

Jim recalled what Sara had said and realised that it wouldn't be a good idea for Gil to hear the words. "Just tell him that I said the FBI was satisfied, but that I didn't give you all the details. Maybe I could try and get the card back and show it to him when I see him. You can't forward it because his name is all over it, but if I take it in I can bring it away afterwards and it should be fine. If you don't mention the card it won't get his hopes up in case I can't get it for him."

"I don't want to lie to Gil, and I do know the details."

"Did I give you the name of the agent I spoke to?"

"No." David replied, drawing the word out in confusion, his brow furrowed.

"Then you don't have all he details."

David smiled as comprehension dawned. "Yes, I see," Hodges was about to continue when he was interrupted by an exclamation from Jim.

"Got them!" He waved the pair of well used work boots in the air. "OK, let's put the rest of this stuff back. Unless you can think of anything else from here that you could take in to cheer him up?"

Hodges shook his head. "Most of it would be against the rules and even if it weren't it's all so uniquely Grissom. If anyone even slightly suspects his identity then anything here would just confirm it. In fact..." He reached over and took one of the boots from Brass. Peering inside he nodded to himself, then, using the knife he'd been opening boxes with he removed the label from under the tongue. Jim peered over in interest. The label had been written on in indelible ink. 'G. Grissom' it said in neat, legible letters.

"Congratulations, Hodges," said Jim as David repeated the exercise on the other boot. "I think you may just have saved his life.

A/N Apologies to fans of Grissom's tarantula for the arachnicide. It seems to be around a fifty/fifty split between those of you who want me to hurt Grissom more and those of you who want me to stop. So I sort of split the difference.

Thanks to everyone who comments on my work. Please keep it up, I occasionally have bouts of depression and it really helps to know that people out there like what I'm doing. Special thanks to those of you who have boosted my ego by commenting on two separates sites and especially those of you who are recommending my stories to other people. High praise indeed!


	14. The Lowest Price

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 14**

**The Lowest Price**

Grissom didn't know whether to laugh or cry so, to save himself from making the decision, he was doing both. He had been thoroughly hoist by his own petard. Grissom knew that a 'petard' was, in fact, a mediaeval explosive device, so that the adage literally meant to be blown up by one's own bomb, and he had been. Into tiny pieces. He giggled a little, noticing how it hurt the lump that was stuck deep in his throat.

He thought he'd been really clever when he came up with the idea, which just went to show how badly his brain was treating him these days. Another tear slid down his cheek to moisten his hated goatee beard.

Here he was, curled up in ball, or the nearest to it he could get right now, desperately wanting to see David Hodges when he visited later that day, (he sniggered a little at _that_ thought), and crying because he knew he wouldn't get to do so. A peculiar noise escaped his heavily bandaged chest, half sob, half snort of laughter.

God, he'd thought he was smart, thought he'd found a way to beat the system. His plan had had a fatal flaw, and he'd spotted it far too late, once he'd already been caught in the trap. He sniffed deeply and roughly eradicated another teardrop with the heel of his hand.

Hoist by his own petard.

When he'd seen Jim Brass four days ago it had seemed to be working so well. He had to admit that he'd misled Jim a little. Although Gil had read the prisoner's handbook that had been included in his 'Welcome Pack' several times, there was nothing in that to tell him that regulations required a minimum of four guards to take part when moving a prisoner forcibly, he'd actually found that out two days before Jim's visit.

It had been the morning after he'd been returned to his own cell from a night in the jail's hospital wing, a precaution taken after he was knocked unconscious during the assault on him. He was being taken down to the shower block because he'd missed the shower he had been due to have the previous day. Gil was anxious about being cuffed at first, but at least his hands had been locked in front of him, and he'd managed to talk himself out of his fear. His guards had held him less tightly too, allowing him to edge along at his own pace, favouring his aching ribs. Then things had all gone wrong. Gil had heard footsteps approaching from his blind side. Panic had swept in and his mouth had gone instantly dry. He'd come to an abrupt halt as he tried to turn his head far enough to check out the perceived danger and, when his escort attempted to move him on, he'd found himself frozen to the spot.

He couldn't persuade his legs to move him forward, but nor could he turn around and head back to his cell when his guards told him to do that. Grissom had learnt what it meant to be literally petrified by fear that day. All he could do was stand and shake his head as the world around him went grey and there was a roaring in his ears. He couldn't even speak to explain how he was feeling, because he was convinced that, if he opened his mouth, he would vomit. Eventually one of his guards had radioed for assistance, and that was when he'd discovered the four man rule. He'd also found out how much it hurt to be picked up and carried while nursing cracked ribs.

Gil tried to ease his position. He wanted to hold himself like this for the comfort, but it wasn't helping his physical injuries. The soft tissue of his face was healing well, but his ribs would take a while longer. He was lucky they had not been completely broken, he just didn't _feel_ lucky. Of course neither laughing nor crying helped, both jolted him more than was comfortable, but he couldn't seem to stop and the fact that he was fully aware that he was becoming hysterical only made it worse.

The problem was that his 'strategy' worked fine, when it was applied to something that mattered to his jailors. They'd played along to get him back to the hospital wing for check-ups, which involved keeping paperwork in order. They'd moved real fast to accommodate him when the Warden had summoned 'Price' to his office as part of the investigation into the attack. When LVPD had requested an interview with their prisoner they'd been eager to oblige and, if that meant agreeing to Grissom's plea for an extra escort, they would. The problem arose when it came to things that the prison officers didn't care about.

Exercise was considered a privilege. If Grissom wouldn't go to the yard without a fuss, then he simply wouldn't go to the yard. To be honest he could live without the two sessions a week out there, even if he did miss the fresh air. Not having showers _was_ a problem. Normally he would be taken for one every other day, but right now he hadn't had one since before he was injured. He wasn't unclean, he strip washed thoroughly with a flannel every day at the sink in his cell and, with his hair as short as it currently was, he could wash that with the cloth too, but it wasn't the same as standing under a stream of running water. Of course he was always _offered_ the chance to shower, so his failure to take advantage of it was his problem. In fact if he missed one more it would trigger a similar process to that caused by missing too many meals. That could cause problems for him. A physical examination would find no reason for him not to shower and the head psychologist couldn't help him because she was on leave, which meant their regular sessions were on hiatus. Grissom had seen another psychologist after the attack, but Gil hadn't felt safe enough to answer questions about why he believed the attack had happened or why he felt he was likely to be targeted again. In the end he'd just stayed silent, which had been easy enough with the pain he was under at the time. Unfortunately the same tactic would not work if he was being assessed to see if he had a genuine reason not to shower. Failure to prove that would mean punishment. Withdrawal of the few privileges he had, including most of the personal items in his cell, would not exactly help Gil's situation.

Again Grissom found himself giggling. He_ never_ giggled. He rarely laughed out loud at all, and giggling was what teen-aged girls did, wasn't it, not fifty-odd year old men? But then, grown men weren't supposed to cry so hard their pillows got soggy either.

If making sure their charge exercised and washed wasn't important enough for his guards to find one more officer to escort him, then they wouldn't care at all how far David had driven through the desert to see him. What would it matter to them if he saw his visitor or not?

And they really didn't care.

Until all this had happened Grissom's strategy for survival in prison had been to keep his head down and follow orders. It had mainly come about because he couldn't be bothered to care enough to argue about anything, plus it wasn't in his nature to cause trouble for troubles sake, but it had its advantages. His guards hadn't known what to make of him. The crime he was convicted of and his instant commitment to segregation had led them to expect one sort of inmate, but his behaviour was that of another type entirely. Gradually his meek, polite and non-confrontational manner had won them over. Maybe not to the point of earning him great favour, but at least it had created a slightly more relaxed, almost amicable, atmosphere to their dealings with him.

That was gone now, and Gil couldn't be entirely sure if it was because they believed that he was being deliberately obstructive, or because rumours had reached them of whom he really was and why he'd been attacked.

Hoist by his own petard.

The problem was that, just as would have been true if he'd really blown himself to pieces, there was no going back.

It wasn't pride, he'd lost any of that along with his job and, he suspected, his mind.

It wasn't obstinacy. He'd always been prepared to give up on a theory if further evidence proved it erroneous. Now there was a funny word, he grinned to himself; although his vision was blurred by moisture.

Some of it, he admitted, was because he knew that if he accepted a two man escort for one thing, he'd lose any claim that he had a psychological reason for his actions and invite punishment if he tried to push for a larger escort in the future.

The reasons behind his actions were logical, he had real reasons to be afraid, and the more he had time to think about it, to have nightmares about it, the more afraid he became. The more afraid he became the more he realised that behaving like this was no longer merely a way of getting a bigger escort. It had become true. The time he'd frozen might have been a one off, a perfectly normal reaction immediately after his attack, especially combined with his limited vision at the time. Now it had become a conviction. Grissom genuinely believed that, without a minimum of three men with him, he literally could no longer leave his cell. Certainly not on his own two feet.

Hoist by his own petard.

More laughter shook Grissom's battered chest as a new thought occurred to him. Maybe he'd beaten the system after all. If he had become agoraphobic then surely being in prison was a blessing, not a punishment. Yet, he had become like this because he was in prison. Now if that wasn't irony, then Grissom didn't know what was.

But he didn't want to be agoraphobic.

He wanted to see David. He needed to see David. He had to try. If he could just get to the visiting area and back without incident then maybe he'd be OK. Maybe then he'd manage to get a shower too. Even if it all went wrong, maybe the guys escorting him would see his fear was genuine, that he wasn't doing this deliberately. Maybe, he thought, in a way the old Grissom never would have, maybe, they'll take pity on me.

The urge to laugh died suddenly and Gil was left only with the tears. For a few minutes more he sobbed hard into his pillow. Then, exhausted, he fell asleep.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

David Hodges leaned back in his chair as if stretching his back and neck and tried to crane his head far enough to see what the other visitors in the room were doing.

Not long after he'd arrived at the prison an officer had sought him out in the waiting area. Apparently they weren't sure if James Price would be coming down for his visit today and it was likely that, even if he did, he might be delayed. Mr. Hodges should still enter the visiting area with the others and sit in the cubicle allotted to Price's visitor, but he may have to wait for a while. The staff would, of course, inform him if it became apparent that the inmate would not be arriving at all.

Visiting had officially started 17 minutes ago according to Hodges' watch and there was still no sign of Grissom. Coupled with the arrangement which meant Grissom would be leaving ten minutes before the other prisoners this was a sizeable chunk out of the ninety minute visiting period. It was also more than long enough for a man of his superior intellect to get bored, thought David, as he fidgeted in his chair.

Finally!

David sat up straight as he noticed movement behind the chair Grissom should have been seated in.

Two prison officers emerged with Gil between them. Hodges couldn't be sure if the men were keeping his friend under very close guard or simply trying to keep him upright. It was the first time Hodges had seen Grissom under restraint like this, but right now he was far more concerned by how sick the scientist looked.

In some ways Gil looked in better shape than the way Jim had described him to David after his visit last week. His left cheek was only a little puffy now, with the red line of the healing cut sitting on his cheekbone, which was now clearly defined once more. The angry bruising that Brass had seen was now faded mainly to yellows and greens which would have strangely complemented Grissom's blue eyes had they not been squeezed almost shut as he shuffled along.

David continued to watch as the men manoeuvred their charge into the seat on the opposite side of the glass. Briefly Grissom slumped forward until one guard pulled him back firmly to the seat's backrest while his colleague did something low down, out of Hodges' line of sight.

In that brief moment David noticed that Grissom's face was deathly white where it wasn't bruised, and there was a thin layer of perspiration over his forehead and cheeks.

At last Gil's handcuffs were taken off and the guards moved back. As a final gesture one of them leant in towards Grissom and said something into his ear. He must have been pointing out that David was there, because only then did the blue eyes finally open fully to meet David's gaze.

Slowly Grissom reached for the handset as his visitor did the same.

For a moment there was silence. Grissom swallowed hard a couple of times, and then moistened his lips in a nervous manner. Eventually David realised it was going to be his job to speak first.

"You look terrible, James," he said his long face clearly showing his concern, something which might have surprised a few people who didn't think David Hodges could be concerned about anyone other than himself. "Have you been ill?"

Grissom nodded, still making an occasional convulsive swallow. Well, he thought, he had been. In the corridor on his way down here, twice.

"Is that why you haven't made the 'phone call you talked about yet?" Anyone eavesdropping would have assumed they were discussing a call the two of them had spoken about before. Of course by 'you' David really meant Brass and Grissom, but as far as the prison was concerned James Price only ever got visits from one man and there was no point risking calling attention to the fact that there might be someone else in the picture.

"Actually I called yesterday, Jim should hear from them soon. Tell him I'm sorry I took so long, but I talked too much to some detective a few days ago and it was only once the stitches in my mouth had been removed and I'd spent twenty-four hours recovering from that, that I was finally able to speak well enough to be understood." Gil managed to exchange smiles with David, who knew precisely who 'some detective' was. Grissom didn't dwell on the other joke along the lines of how, most amusingly, the ice chips which had helped him speak had actually become rarer as his relationship with his guards had got chillier.

Suddenly Gil jumped to his feet as the guard who had appeared behind him leant forward to place a plastic cup on the ledge in front of the glass screen. David was surprised, Grissom was usually so aware of his surroundings, even able to recognise people he met in the lab corridors despite apparently being engrossed in a case file as he walked along. It was why David hadn't bothered to warn his friend of the man's approach.

Grissom quickly regained his seat, his heart thumping, it wasn't as though he could have gone anywhere, the tug of the chains which connected his ankles to the floor had quickly reminded him of that. The prison officer who had approached him told him to try and calm down more, but didn't seem too upset at Grissom's sudden movement. Then, to Gil's surprise, handed over the other item he had, a wash cloth moistened with warm water.

For a moment Grissom simply held the cloth to his face, letting the warmth soothe him. Then, carefully, he used it to clean his mouth and beard. Finally, he took a few sips of water from the cup and rinsed them around in his mouth.

Only then did he pick up the hand set again. "Tell me something positive, David." Gil asked a stunned looking Hodges. More refreshed now physically, but still needing help recovering mentally from the effort he'd made to get to his visitor, there was a look of pleading in his eyes.

David offered him the best news he could. "Jim heard from the FBI, they've stopped searching, they believe Sara's safe."

"They have? They do? How do they know? You said they've called the search off, but that means they didn't actually find her. So how can they be sure?" Grissom was all eagerness now.

"They must be, Jim didn't give me all the details, but I do know they've passed the information on to Henderson PD. It's OK, they know you didn't hurt her, and no-one else has either."

"But they don't know where she is." It was a statement, not a question.

"No. Jim and I will continue to do our best, James, I promise, we'll keep her out of this if we possibly can."

Grissom was back to responding silently, with an absent minded nod of his head.

David sighed; he didn't know how to cheer Grissom up. He wished he could tell the man in front of him about Ecklie's terrified reaction to the dead tarantula. It had been made doubly sweet by the fact that Ecklie had panicked so badly he'd failed to realise the beast was dead and called in an expert from the zoo to cope with the spider in his office. Of course by the time the expert arrived Grissom's pet had been removed for solemn burial later and the only thing even vaguely spider like in Ecklie's desk drawer was lime green and unmistakeably made of plastic.

Unfortunately he couldn't without letting Gil know that his pet was now very much an ex-spider. This was exactly why Ecklie had deserved everything he got, including the photographs which anonymously appeared in the break room afterwards.

Trying to change the subject David explained to Griss that he'd only left the work boots and a large bag of jelly beans with security. He'd chosen the beans over chocolate because, if necessary, they could be sucked instead of chewed. Hodges admitted he hadn't ordered any books to be sent to Grissom either, because he wasn't sure if he wanted anything else and he knew Gil was only allowed to have a limited number of personal items in his cell at any one time, so he needed to avoid bringing in anything unwanted.

"Maybe I could send some more crossword books?"

Another sad head shake. "I haven't done most of the ones you sent in a few weeks ago. I'm afraid I need something less challenging these days."

"Perhaps I can get you something else then. Word searches maybe?"

"I think join-the-dots is more my current level." Grissom managed to joke before remembering to ask for a book on Tai Chi. "Make it one that's heavy on pictures and how to do the exercises; I'm really not up to a deep analysis of the philosophy."

Sympathetically, Hodges agreed then managed some inconsequential chat until it was time to leave. He'd noticed Grissom becoming more taciturn and fidgety as time passed, with occasional anxious glances behind him that rapidly increased in frequency. When a guard had come to let them know their time was nearly up Gil's breathing had speeded up noticeably, despite Hodges' warning that someone was approaching.

As usual David departed at the end of the visit without looking back. He wasn't even sure if Grissom knew that he'd been seen coming in. If he hadn't it was probably best that he didn't know.

As two guards prepared to take him back to his cell Grissom noticed how much his hands were shaking as he offered them to be cuffed.

"Don't worry, Price," it was the same guard who'd brought him water and his voice was almost friendly. "In view of your 'accidents' on the way here we've taken measures to get you back to your cell a little more quickly than you came."

As Grissom unsteadily stood and turned towards the door he suddenly realised there were two more officers present in addition to the ones who had just been dealing with his chains. Still anxious, but more than a little reassured, he shuffled forward, his escort falling in around him.

Someone had indeed taken pity on him.

A/N Yes, I know I'm horrible, making Grissom cry again; but I hope I've answered a few queries and requests from reviewers in this chapter. I do read them all, even if I don't respond to everyone. Next chapter will hopefully move the story on some more. In the mean time please write more of your lovely comments.


	15. Price Negotiations

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine. (But my birthday's in a week.)

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 15**

**Price Negotiations**

"So," said Catherine, once their server had left to process their orders, "I arrive for my shift to find a yellow rose, a photocopy of a case file and an invitation to have breakfast and it isn't even my birthday. What's it all about, Jim?"

"Well, the rose was to get your attention, the case file was to keep it and breakfast is because it's hard to think on an empty stomach after a long shift." Jim paused to take a swig of water. "I'm also hoping that you've had chance to read the file, or at least see what it's about, so that you can't walk out on me claiming you didn't know what I wanted to discuss with you."

"The Grissom case."

Jim looked the red-blonde in the eye. "I'm glad you call it that, after all we usually name our cases after the victim, don't we?"

"The McCain case then. I'm not sure how far I want to get into this, Jim, you better tell me what you want from me now, or maybe I will just walk out that door."

"Gil just got himself a new lawyer, a big gun this time. I'm just trying to get him as much ammunition as possible so that he can help Gil whatever way he can. That's why I was able to get hold of the case file. Now I need someone to go through it and look at the evidence with a CSI's eyes."

"Why me? I've hardly been running Gil's fan club since this happened. For the life of me I can't decide if the man's guilty or not, 'cause if he's not he's been acting plain stupid and, if I'm honest, that seems even less likely to me than him killing someone. Besides, why not just ask Gil himself?"

"You saw him out at the desert burial site. I watched your expression when I mentioned he was ill and I saw the look in your eyes when he switched off right in front of you. However confused you are about Laura McCain's murder you still care enough to be concerned about him. Gil's struggling to apply that over-sized brain of his to anything right now and his behaviour is just getting more erratic. I've reached the point where I daren't raise any questions about that night with him. He's in a bad way, Catherine, even if he were guilty as sin, he's spent over half his life putting low-lifes away and been a good friend to us both, he deserves better than what he's going through right now.

"You may not be sure of Gil's innocence, but your uncertainty makes you neutral. Short of trying to find a criminalist whose never heard of the great Gil Grissom your opinion of the evidence is the fairest I'm gonna get. Please do this for me, for him, for positive karma and universal forgiveness if that's what'll persuade you to do it. I'm begging you, Catherine, help me help him."

Cath sat back a little as their server returned with their breakfasts. As well as giving the girl room to place the plates on the table it gave Catherine a moment to think. She'd read the case file thoroughly during the night, returning to it whenever she had a moment's break, but also making sure no-one else saw it. There was a reason why case files involving employees where kept separate, and Gil deserved at least that much respect. In fact Catherine had half felt she shouldn't read it herself but Jim had asked her to and, well, she'd _wanted_ to, a lot.

She had to help Jim now, if only to justify the avidness with which she'd read the details of Laura McCain's death.

Jim had made sure they got a booth at the back of the restaurant, and by sitting on the outside of the bench seats they were able to spread out the case file where prying eyes couldn't see it, without it getting in the way of their food.

After swallowing a forkful of scrambled eggs, Catherine referred to a sheet of notes she'd made and began.

"I'm letting you know now, Jim, I didn't have a 'Eureka' moment where I spotted the vital clue which will prove Gil's innocence."

Brass gave a shrug of acceptance, his mouth full of his own breakfast. He'd known that that wasn't about to happen from the start. Catherine would have had a very different demeanour when she'd arrived if she'd seen conclusive proof of their old friend's innocence. He just had to cling to the fact that she clearly hadn't been totally convinced of his guilt either.

"Motive, means, opportunity." Catherine quoted the trio of things required before making an arrest. "As Gil himself was fond of saying, the 'how' part is your business, not ours. Means; well, as you know, COD was exsanguination from a stab wound to the carotid artery, quite low down on the neck, before it branches. It was very precisely placed indicating someone with an understanding of anatomy, most people would aim higher up and for the jugular. The site of this wound was just as deadly, but had the advantage of being hidden once the comforter was pulled up around Miss McCain where she was lying in her bed."

Catherine paused to have more of her eggs before they got cold.

"This brings us to the murder weapon. A metal nail file, later confirmed as Laura's own was still in the wound. While it was pointed, it wasn't exactly a knife and would have needed quite some force to penetrate the skin and tissue. That this was done, and with such accuracy, together with a lack of defensive wounds indicated that Laura McCain was probably incapacitated in some way before she was stabbed. Miss McCain's only other signs of injury were bruises on her knees, nothing to indicate that she was physically restrained, so the CSIs involved looked for chemical restraint and, as you know, came up with chloral hydrate."

"Do we know how that was administered?"

Catherine checked the file, "Injection, there was a clear needle mark in her right thigh. No syringe was found."

"OK, so with no syringe the only thing linking the chloral hydrate to Gil was his licence to hold it and the presence of the chemical in his home, for which there was a legitimate reason. There was also nothing linking Gil directly to the actual murder weapon, was there?"

"Not to the weapon itself, that could only be linked to the vic but witnesses confirm that it was normally kept in Laura's purse, which does have evidence of Gil on it, both fingerprints and epithelials. Incidentally there were also prints and epithelials on the vic's jacket, where Gil seems to have gripped her elbow."

"OK," said Jim, waggling his fork in the air as he talked, "How 'bout we move onto opportunity. We know the argument will be that Gil was a figure of authority with legitimate reason to talk to Miss McClain and visit her home without her questioning his presence, but when is he supposed to have done this? I was with him most of the night."

"I was just getting to the time line. Gil found the body at 5.45 a.m., David Phillips arrived about forty minutes later and estimated death 2-3 hrs previously, but we know she was still alive at 3.30 a.m. because she was captured on LVPD's own video cameras leaving the parking lot at headquarters, accompanied by Gil.

"And that's where Gil really gets into trouble; the journey from PD to the lab takes about five minutes by car at that time of night, ten to fifteen minutes if you're on foot. It was forty minutes after he disappeared from the cameras at PD before he appeared in the parking lot at the lab The trip by road vehicle from PD to the McCain house and then back to the crime lab in light traffic takes about twenty minutes, so the prosecution would argue that Gil would have twenty minutes to get Laura McCain into her bed and administer the fatal blow, perfectly possible for someone of Gil's strength and build, particularly if the chloral hydrate was injected before the journey started, giving ten minutes head start on the effects."

Jim signalled the waitress for more coffee before pulling the transcript of Grissom's first interview from the file.

"Gil's explanation is that Miss McCain was unsteady on her feet and fell before they reached her car, which would match the bruising on her knees. He helped her up, explaining the evidence on her jacket, then picked up her purse and the contents which had fallen out when it was dropped, explaining the trace on those.

"He was concerned about her driving in that state and volunteered to take her home himself, but she declined, saying she would call a friend to collect her. Gil, being a gentleman, waited until this friend's cab turned up before leaving but, unfortunately, didn't stay quite long enough to be able to describe him or her. Of course he didn't know how important this was going to be, so he didn't take the cab's number either."

"Yes, I'm afraid this is what really sinks it for Gil, his only alibi is the victim herself and she's not talking."

Jim and Catherine continued eating in silence for a while, lost in their thoughts about what had happened.

"Laura McCain's car was found in her own garage, wasn't it?" said Jim, resuming the conversation. "So, whoever did this probably used it to get her from PD to the house."

Catherine nodded, "The forensics report on her car is in there. As usual for a car there was trace of a few other people having been in it besides the owner, Miss McCain. The only trace that linked back to anyone known was some shed hairs on the head rest of the passenger seat. They were a microscopic match with Grissom's."

"But that would be explained if he sat there whilst waiting for Miss McCain's mysterious friend. OK, playing the 'Devil's Advocate' and assuming it was Gil, he'd have needed another vehicle to get himself back to the lab I don't remember seeing anything about that in the file, do you?"

"Only a brief note along the lines that Grissom's personal and work vehicles remained in view of the lab parking lot's cameras throughout the period in question and no other vehicles had been identified as possibilities. But you know as well as I do, Jim, absence of proof isn't proof of absence."

That sounds like a Grissomism thought Brass. He missed those.

"What else was found from McCain's car?"

Catherine skimmed through the documents spread over the table, frowning. "I can't find anything beyond the trace report. Maybe there was nothing to find once Gil's presence was established, particularly with the vic dying elsewhere, but there should be a note to that effect somewhere on the file."

Jim was scanning another sheet. "According to this the car should still be being held, Laura McCain had no next of kin so the county gets to auction the vehicle, until then it remains police property, which conveniently means an unbroken chain of custody. I'll call Gil's lawyer, get him to request the vehicle be held for further inspection. Who's your best guy on vehicles?"

"Sar... Greg." Catherine quickly corrected herself. "Sara trained him up well."

"OK, you can probably expect a call from Gil's lawyer requesting him to do some work. At least he's sympathetic to our Bug Man."

"Question for you this time, Jim," Catherine said, swallowing the last of her OJ, "if you put a uniform on Laura McCain's house to make sure it stayed secure after the original break in and he was still there when Gil returned and found the body, how come he never noticed the victim and her killer coming back to her house and the killer leaving afterwards?"

Jim shrugged. "Simple. Hayward's a sound guy, but he was keeping an eye on the rear, patio, door, which was damaged in the break in and couldn't be locked. McCain's car was found parked in the integral garage at the front of the house. Laura McCain's keys were usually in her purse, so they were probably used to open the door from the garage into the main house, because the lock wasn't forced. The door opens straight into the hallway with the staircase which leads to the bedrooms. Hayward wouldn't have been able to see or hear a thing. He probably only knew Gil was there because Gil went in search of him, remembering for once to have an officer with him when he went back to the scene."

"Or making sure he had a witness to his 'discovery'."

At Jim's look Catherine threw her hands up in surrender. "Hey, if you can be ''Devil's Advocate'' so can I."

Jim managed to grin, accepting Catherine's defence.

"As we've mentioned it, do you know what's happening with the B & E? It's dropped off my radar."

"The case was dropped. The official reason was that, with the complainant deceased, it was a waste of resources to continue. The scene was compromised by the investigation into the murder and the evidence Gil had collected before that has been called into question because there is a theory that he performed the break in himself to set the whole situation up. As you know, he hadn't got to work when it happened,"

"That would make it first degree murder because it would show it had been planned well in advance."

"Uh huh, he could claim to have had the chloral hydrate and even the syringe in his car after going over to where he has his bee hives, but breaking into the vic's house and then coming back later is something else entirely. If there's going to be a hearing you need to be prepared for it to come up. I don't know how you'd go about disproving it, though. Maybe try and prove Gil's alibi for being late, that his dog, Hank, was sick. That could be difficult after all this time."

"I think David has a couple of ideas about that, he's over at Gil's place now, following them up. He thinks he may have some work for Wendy and Henry as a result, but you can charge that to Gil's defence."

"Dave Phillips is helping you out?"

"No," Brass looked confused, "David Hodges."

A neatly shaped eyebrow climbed its way up Catherine's forehead. Hodges and Jim working together? Jim must be desperate. What was really weird to her was that Hodges hadn't breathed a word and was just getting on with his work as normal. Well, almost.

"Does this have anything to do with the foul mood Hodges has been in for the last few days? He's hardly spoken to anyone."

"Probably. His last visit to the prison frightened him. Gil was acting worse than ever and David came straight round to my place after he got back wanting to know how to raise a complaint. I persuaded him to let me run the idea past Gil's attorney when I go see him. Since then David's been working every hour he's not at the lab to try and find a way to help get Gil out of there. He's tired and he's worried about his friend."

Not wanting to get into just how much Hodges was doing for Grissom, Jim brought the conversation back to the case.

"Maybe another way to prove Gil wasn't involved in the break in would be to look at what Nick managed to get before he was called away? Surely that can't be called into question, can it? Do you know how far he got?"

Catherine had to shake her head. In the disruption caused by Grissom's sudden suspension and later arrest Catherine had needed to pick up the reins of the Graveyard shift as fast as possible. She'd done it by concentrating on the big cases and supervising Greg's work, leaving the more experienced Nick and Warrick to deal with everything else.

"No, I don't, you'd need to check on that with Nick himself. I don't even know why he needed to leave when he did. I don't think the detectives from Henderson asked him either."

"They didn't?" Jim was more than just surprised. "Do you realise how important it might be to establish how Gil came to take the case? It could be claimed that he arranged it deliberately – or maybe it was fixed by someone else."

"I agree, Nick could be the key to this, but I don't know how you're going to get him to help, the team's got to the point where they daren't even mention Gil's name in front of him. He's always had Gil on a pedestal, and now that his hero has fallen he feels he's been betrayed by the man he admired and trusted with his life. I'm not sure he even knows how to allow for the possibility of Gil's innocence. It's like he put up a defensive wall to protect himself when Gil got arrested and then got stuck on the wrong side of it."

"Well, Nick _should_ trust Gil with his life, how many times has he saved it? Three at least, I think. I do have an idea, that might get Nick to help Gil, but I'll need you to do me one more favour to help achieve it."

Catherine brushed her hair back with one hand and sighed. "Well, I guess you and Gil are both still in credit. What do you need?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Grissom tried to ease his position on the floor of his prison cell, letting his head fall back against the cool white tiles which covered the wall behind him. He closed his eyes for a moment.

"Price? Price!" A call came from the other side of the door and Grissom started a little coming rapidly awake once more.

"It's your move, James." The guard, who Gil had recently found was called Paul, passed Hodges' travel chess set back through the slot usually used to deliver Grissom's meals.

Grissom stared at the board for a moment feeling lost. Gently, Paul, who was watching through the observation window set in the door between them, reminded him that he was playing white and that there was no rush to make his move.

A few moments later Grissom moved his rook a few squares to the left before handing it back through the slot.

"Check?" It was more a question than a statement. "Need to stretch. Give me a minute?"

"Sure. It's gonna take me at least that to figure out how to get out of this." Paul replied, as he watched his charge heave himself onto his feet and begin walking around his cell, extending his legs and massaging his knees with each step.

He didn't really have to examine the board, he reckoned he'd have Price in check-mate within five moves, ten if the man managed to gather his resources and put up a decent defence. Still it was the best game the prisoner had played so far and a considerable improvement on the first, when Price had blindly copied every move Paul had made and had only avoided 'Fool's Mate' because he'd realised how badly he was playing and tilted his King in resignation. He'd responded to Paul's suggestion of starting again wordlessly but plainly, by taking the chess set and placing it on his tiny desk before going to lie on his bunk facing the wall.

Paul was glad of any improvement at all. Four days earlier he'd been working on the segregation wing covering while another prison officer was on leave, when he'd been requested to go down to the visiting area to help bring back a prisoner who had been taken ill. When he'd realised just how ill, he'd done his best to help the sick man, one James Price, and, after returning to his regular duties on the psych. wing he'd filed a report suggesting Price be seen by a prison psychologist as soon as possible.

Paul had gone back down to help with the evaluation. As soon as he became aware someone wanted to come into his cell, Price had taken up the regulation position at the back of the cell, hands in plain sight. When the psychologist had entered the six by nine room, Price had begun to tremble. When the psychologist had called him James and reassured him he wouldn't be hurt, Price had burst into tears, before pushing himself tightly into the corner of the cell.

At that point Price had suddenly become completely unresponsive, a 'catatonic stupor' the psychologist had called it. Fearing the catatonia would become more active in nature and cause Price to hurt himself, Paul and a couple of other guards had got him into soft restraints and onto his bunk. Despite being physically moved it had been another few minutes before Price had shown any response to the psychologist calling his name and he had seemed surprised by his change of location and the nylon webbing belt and soft, padded cuffs keeping his wrists secured at waist level. A hobble of the same materials now held his ankles closely together, more comfortably than chains would have done, but just as securely.

As the psychologist had talked to him Price had been constantly distracted by his restraints, looking down at them, pulling at them, and then looking at the man who was trying to assess him with eyes as imploring as a child's. Price's reaction to the restraints wasn't violent and he remained silent throughout, but it was clear he was very anxious at being bound that way.

Eventually the psychologist had been able to get and retain Price's attention long enough to persuade him to consent to take a sedative pill which Paul had fetched and helped administer. It had been a relief when Price had agreed; otherwise he would have had to be transferred to the psych. wing. Due to the nature of the majority of the inmates housed there, the psych. wing had an atmosphere of unrest and violence which would not have helped Price, so, as he was already segregated and had a cell to himself, it seemed sensible to keep him where he was.

Once it became clear that the pill had begun to take effect the restraints had been removed, which had eased the prisoner's anxiety so much that he had fallen asleep a few minutes later. Price was now taking a regular low dose of Diazepam and would continue to do so until the head of the psychology department returned from leave and re-assessed the situation. In the mean time, while not on full blown suicide watch, Price was being checked on every fifteen minutes, twice as often as before, and was automatically given a four man escort whenever he left his cell, mainly to encourage him that it was safe to do so, because the psychologist wanted him back to having regular exercise and showers as soon as possible.

Paul had been assigned back to segregation to help give the extra cover required for Price. He hadn't been given any duties other than those related to the sick man, so he was using his time to try and get to know James Price. Having seen the chess set during a cell inspection he'd decided it might be a way in. It hadn't got Price to talk much yet, but it did seem to be helping his concentration, despite the effects of his medication. Paul had also spent nearly twenty minutes walking round the exercise yard with Price that morning before James' anxiety got the better of him and he asked to return to his cell. He was very hopeful that things would continue to improve.

Playing chess through a door wasn't the perfect way to befriend someone but for Paul to go into Price's cell with him would either involve having a second guard outside the room watching, or putting Price back into soft restraints. The former was out for manpower reasons, Paul might have few other duties but the other officers on the wing did. Even the idea of the restraints made Price's anxiety levels soar, in spite of the sedation, so they had adopted the through the door method instead. It was uncomfortable, but it worked.

As for Gil himself, he felt better too, there was no longer a constant fluttering in his chest and throat and nausea only occasionally bothered him. Best of all, his absences appeared to have stopped. As for side effects; he was a little drowsy maybe, but he had been short on sleep for weeks. The fuzziness which surrounded his brain actually felt good after the harshness of life in prison so far, even if his short term memory wasn't all it should be. He knew there was a possibility he could become dependant on the Diazepam, but so did the man who'd prescribed it, he had been placed on a minimal dose and it was to be for a short period only. Grissom had known he needed help desperately, and had agreed to take the medication because of that. Like his migraine medication, it might have its drawbacks, but it was still better than the alternative.

Stretching his legs for a final time, Gil resumed his position on the hard floor and tried to concentrate on the game once more.

A/N A long chapter this time. I hope I've fulfilled my promise to move the story on, without being tedious to read. Please, let me know what you think, I do pay attention to what is said and sometimes it guides what I write next.


	16. Price May Vary

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine. Yet again they missed my birthday.

Possible additional spoilers for _Boom_ and _Stalker _in this chapter.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**A/N 1** I apologise for the delay in posting this; Real Life got in the way a lot last week. I hope the fact that this turned out to be a double length chapter makes up for it.

**Chapter 16**

**Price May Vary**

Grissom waited in the entry hall of the grand house while a briefing went on in what was apparently called the "Morning Room". He leaned against an ornate pillar for support and closed his eyes, concentrating on his breathing and trying not to become obsessed by the bonds which restricted his movements. The guards who were watching him chatted quietly between themselves. He had a four man escort for this trip, two men who normally worked on prisoner transport, one who usually worked on the segregation wing and, much to his relief, Paul.

Paul and the more senior of the transportation guards had just gone into the briefing. It was nearly finished and they were due to speak to the small group of people who might come into close contact with 'James Price' about the security procedures they needed to follow when they were around him. It was the first time the psych. wing trained guard had left Grissom's side since that morning when he'd first been informed that he'd be temporarily leaving the prison. Despite the urgency of the request for him from the LVPD, there had been a great deal of discussion over whether James Price was fit to go and what arrangements would be made for his health and security and it had obviously been decided that he was well enough to be used like this again. All the arrangements that had been made seemed to be compromises, like the make up of his escort team and the fact that his wrists were in soft cuffs to stop him from injuring himself if he lost control and started to struggle against them, whilst his ankles were held by the standard chains which were more secure. His waist was surrounded by both the nylon belt which the cuffs were attached to and the chain that then dropped by his left leg before connecting to his shackles. Both waist restraints were secured by the same padlock. Paul had talked to him constantly while he was fitted with all these but he'd still felt dizzy and nauseated and had only just suppressed the urge to ignore the possible consequences and attempt to fight off the men who were securing him. All this despite the slightly higher dose of sedative he'd been given that morning.

The crime scene he had eventually been brought to was indoors which meant that, in order to allow him to drop the guise of being James Price and use Gil Grissom's knowledge freely, his escort team would move him to the location he was meant to work in and then wait outside the building until they were radioed to come and fetch him. Gil was already missing Paul's calming influence and hoped that Jim Brass was around and would be able to help him cope while the prison officer was out of reach.

The pair of guards currently in charge of him weren't helping his inner balance, from the few words he could hear of their conversation and the looks they were giving him, the guard from Segregation was amusing his transport officer friend with tales of James Price's weirdness.

Grissom heard the doors of the Morning Room opening behind him, followed by the sound of two men's footsteps crossing the massive entry. The men were talking and, as the Morning Room's doors closed behind them, Grissom recognised their voices. Carefully he tried to edge around the pillar so he wouldn't be seen as they walked by towards the door. He had to make sure that he still remained in full view of his guards; nothing would draw attention to him more than to have them start yelling that their prisoner was trying to evade them.

It was Gil's movement that gave him away. The brief rattle caused by the chain linking his ankle cuffs to his waist moving against the column behind him was enough to cause both men to look around. Grissom tried to look unobtrusive, but his orange jumpsuit was standing out against the white marble like a beacon.

"Why the hell is he here?" The Under-sheriff had given his pep talk to the men and was swiftly departing to handle a press conference arranged to keep the media well away from the actual crime scene.

"The Sheriff said 'use all available resources' and we believe _Price_ has knowledge which may be useful." Jim Brass answered, looking meaningfully at the Under-Sheriff, then towards the prison officers as he used Grissom's alias.

The Under-sheriff frowned and dropped his voice a little. He was now talking quietly enough that the guards couldn't hear but loudly enough to be sure that Gil would catch every word, although the man continued to address himself directly to Jim. "OK, but remember, he's here to advise only, he doesn't touch the evidence and his name doesn't appear on any reports. He's done more than enough to put the lab's reputation at risk without having evidence called into question because it was handled by a known murderer."

Diplomatically, Jim just nodded and agreed, before cheerfully ushering the Under-sheriff out of the door. Wandering back towards his friend he rolled his eyes.

"Afternoon, Price." Jim was careful not to give anything away about his real relationship with the convicted felon before him. "You weren't feeling too good when I came to interview you about a week ago. I hope you're up to being more helpful today."

"I'm going to try, Captain, I'm taking medication now, it's not a miracle cure but it's helped so far. Unfortunately today's a big challenge and I have to admit that I don't feel as well as I did. If I start behaving oddly, like I did last time you brought me to a crime scene, you need to call my escort. Officer Paul Anderson has more meds in case I need an extra dose."

"Anderson. OK, I've got it. If it helps you calm down any I'm Jim, remember I told you that you could call me that last time things started getting too much for you." _No harm in re-establishing that idea_, thought Jim. "You mind telling me what that medication is?"

"Diazepam. You might know it as Valium," Grissom added, at Brass' slightly mystified look.

Jim nodded, he didn't exactly like the sound of that, but if it was clearly helping his friend, who was doing far better at keeping up a conversation than he had for a while, despite needing to pretend they didn't know each other well, and therefore it had to be worth it.

The doors of the Morning Room opened again; the main briefing was now over and police officers and other workers filed through the hall heading to wherever they were assigned to perform their tasks, many of them peered with interest at Grissom as they passed. Seeing his friend blanch at the attention before quickly looking at his feet so that the peak of his black 'INMATE' baseball cap hid his face as much as possible, Jim quickly helped Gil move fully behind the pillar and then stationed himself in a position where he could fix his best disapproving glare on anyone whose curiosity was so great that they actually went out of their way to set eyes on the mysterious prisoner.

Minutes later the handful of people who had stayed behind also passed through the hall, there was less interest in Grissom this time as most of them already knew who he really was. The remainder of Gil's escort now rejoined the group. Brass excused himself to get on with his organizational role and left them alone.

Paul checked on Grissom and, after noting a light sheen of moisture on his face took him through a brief breathing exercise to help calm him down.

"You OK now? Good. Well, apparently you're wanted up on the top floor, so were going to loosen your leg restraints a little so that you can manage the stairs and then take them at a nice steady pace, not too fast, but no lingering about either. OK?"

Grissom nodded and Paul made him keep his eyes on him while two of Gil's other guards fiddled with the chain connecting his ankles together under the supervision of the third.

The supervising officer, the only one of the team who was armed, now issued his instructions. Price would walk up the stairs between two officers. He would continue to climb without interruption unless told to stop, and if he needed to rest he was to say so, but not actually halt until given permission. If he did stop, or if he attempted to divert in any way from a direct path from one flight of stairs to the next he would be treated as if he was trying to get away and incapacitated. As the supervising officer carried both a gun and a taser it was clear that being 'incapacitated' would not be fun. The fourth officer in the party would be behind the supervisor out of the line of fire but ready to prevent Price from heading back downstairs, which was the only way to get to an exit. Not that it would have mattered if he had got so far, all the building's exits were protected by armed officers and, just as when Grissom had been taken out to the desert, any attempt to leave the area without his escort would leave him open to being shot as an absconding prisoner.

Paul Anderson caught the tremor that passed through James Price's body when all this was explained to him, and made sure that he was one of the two officers holding Grissom's arms half in restraint, half in support as the group mounted the first staircase.

The manoeuvre passed without incident and, at the top, Paul distracted Grissom once again as his hobble was adjusted to reduce his stride to a shuffle with insufficient length to safely attempt the stairs. This done, Paul took one last moment to speak calmingly to 'James' before leaving him in the charge of Catherine Willows, who had been waiting for them when they arrived.

The top story of the house was an old fashioned attic room, filled with various boxes and old pieces of furniture, some of which looked as though it dated from before the Victorian mansion had been renovated to become a millionaire's holiday home. After taking the area in for a few moments Gil turned his attention to Catherine.

"So, do I get to know what the case is, or at least what I'm supposed to be doing?" He asked now that his breathing was back to normal, trying to concentrate on being a CSI, not a prisoner.

Catherine wanted to make amends for not being as supportive as she might have been, so she obliged by giving him a full outline of the case.

"Ten days ago vandals broke into this place, which was unoccupied at the time, and trashed everywhere from here in the attic right down to the basement. The owner is connected with financing some sports team out east and the fans have been in dispute with the team's management, so he assumed it was something to do with that and used some of his mountains of cash to have the place cleaned up while his minions made sure nothing appeared in the press about it. The security guy who was watching the place disappeared that night, but his employer just figured he was sympathetic to the vandals and let them in before making himself scarce. Nothing appeared to have been taken and the safes in the bedroom and study were untouched so, again in the interests of keeping things quiet, the owner decided not to call in the police."

Catherine noticed that Grissom was concentrating hard on her words. Normally he would have continued taking in the room while she talked, but it seemed that one thing at a time was enough for him these days. She carried on speaking.

"The cleaning company is one of the best and it took less than a week to clear up. That was just as well, because the owner and his wife came to Vegas a few days ago. Last night they were due to go to some charity function at the Venetian, the wife wanted her flashiest diamonds for the event and, for the first time since the home invasion, they went to open the secret vault in the basement."

Much to Catherine's relief Grissom's eyebrow popped up at this, the familiar mannerism making a welcome return.

"Yeah, I know, it seems that the _two_ safes upstairs were more for petty cash and minor 'every day' jewellery and to dupe most burglars into thinking they'd got a decent haul while the _really _valuable stuff was hidden away below ground. Anyway, when the door to the basement vault opens there's a hell of a stench coming out, and inside is one dead security guy and absolutely _nothing_ else. This time the boss man did call the police, although I suspect it was more about the burglary than what happened to the guard. Being an evening call it means that Jim and I are the ones who get to lead on this."

Now Grissom's brain was engaging.

"So, we have a ten day old crime scene that spreads through an entire mansion which has since been thoroughly and professionally cleaned and repaired..."

"And, just in case I can't find anything probative when I go down and process the vault, which isn't the primary site for the murder, by the way..."

"You need to have CSIs go over everywhere else with a fine tooth comb to see if they can find any evidence that wasn't destroyed by the cleaners..."

"And, hopefully, identify where the security guard was actually killed." Catherine finished, smiling at her old friend, who managed a slight quirk of his lips in return.

"The attic extends across the entire roof area and is used mainly for storage, so there are lots of places where something might have survived. I'm hoping your experienced eyes will help spot where those are most likely to be."

"OK, I can do that, but if you're working the vault who am going to be working with?"

Even as Gil asked the question footsteps could be heard on the stairs. Soon a familiar head appeared in the stairwell.

"Oh, good," Catherine addressed the newcomer, "I was wondering where you'd got to, I need someone strong up here, it might be necessary to shift some of these boxes around, and although Gil will be able to suggest where best to look, I'm afraid he won't be much help with the physical stuff.

"Right, I'll leave you guys to it then."

Catherine headed to go down the staircase just as Grissom's partner for the day reached the top, but she was stopped by a hand on her arm.

"Catherine, are you seriously telling me you expect me to work with him?" Nick asked in disbelief. Cath stared at the hand until the Texan removed it before answering his question with a simple "yes".

"NO! No way. Absolutely not. I will not work with that man."

"Do you ever want to get a promotion, Nicky?" asked Catherine, her careful use of the diminutive form of his name showing her opinion of the way he was behaving - childishly.

"Because, if you do, you need to learn that, sometimes, you have to use the best tools and people for the job that needs to be done, even if that doesn't quite suit you or certain members of your staff. You have a job to do Nick, please get on with it. And don't forget what was said at the briefing," she added, looking at Nick's mutinous face, "at no time is Grissom to be left unattended." Her message was clear, there was to be no leaving in a fit of pique, it would be hard for Nick to storm off if he had to wait for someone to turn up to watch Grissom before he could leave.

Quickly, Catherine got herself downstairs before it could occur to Nick to speed out of there leaving _her_ in charge of Grissom. That wouldn't fit the plan at all.

For a few silent minutes Nick simply stared at his former boss, his normally friendly brown eyes almost black and cold enough to make Grissom want to shiver.

"Look, if working together is going to be that much of a problem maybe you could clear somewhere where I can just sit quietly 'til you're done." Griss knew Catherine was right to make this a two man job; it would be all too easy to miss something if only one set of eyes was being used, but the tension was unnerving him and all he wanted was to try and defuse the situation.

Nick just continued to stare at the man before him. It was the first time he'd seen Grissom properly since he'd been suspended and he'd deliberately avoided listening to any conversations about the man who he felt had let him down so badly. Grissom's normal light tan had faded almost completely and the pallor was only one part of a general aura of ill health which emanated from Grissom's gaunt face. _Gaunt? Haunted by his victim, more like, _Nick thought, as he tried to bury any feelings of pity he might have for the man before him. He vaguely wondered about the angry red line on Grissom's cheek which looked like it might eventually become a thin scar, but persuaded himself that he didn't care enough to bother asking about it.

_So much for 'The Big Guy', _he thought, taking in Grissom's stance. The two men had always seemed to be much of a height, but now it felt like he was looking down on the older man. Grissom was standing with his head bowed and his hands clasped before him, as if in supplication, although really that was just where the cuffs he was wearing forced him to hold them, close together, directly over the curve of his stomach. His leg irons also had an effect on the way he stood, having to keep his feet so close together emphasized the way his lower legs curved away from each other, forcing his knees slightly wider apart than his ankles were. In the distorted view that Nick had imposed upon himself, Grissom's posture, together with his offer to keep out of the way, was simply part of some pathetic effort to wring sympathy out of him and Nick wasn't going to fall for that one.

He took a step closer to Grissom, then another, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Grissom's eyes widened and he licked his lips nervously. He resisted the urge to shuffle backwards as Nick advanced, he didn't want to repeat what had happened last time he'd backed away from an attacker, a fall would be both more likely and more dangerous here with a much shorter chain connecting his ankles and only a thin railing between him and the stairwell behind him.

"Please stand back, Nick." Grissom said, keeping his voice as even as his growing fear would allow. Surely_,_ he hoped, however angry Nick felt, the man's Southern sense of honour wouldn't let him hit a man who did not have a fair chance to defend himself?

"Don't give me orders, you're not my boss any more, Grissom, what makes you think I'll do anything you tell me anyway?"

"They're not my orders." Grissom responded, his voice surprisingly level, "You're armed, and not just with a gun. I know you're carrying both a scalpel and a utility knife inside the pockets of your vest, you always do. You were briefed not to come within three feet of me while carrying stuff like that, weren't you? Now, please, step back."

For nearly a minute Nick hesitated, but then he stepped away. He couldn't really see what Grissom could do to get hold of a weapon while secured as he was, but he knew that his utility knife could easily slice through the nylon webbing of the hand restraints and it was better not to take any chances. That didn't mean that Gil was off the hook yet, though.

"Did Sara leave because she realised what you were capable of?" Nick asked; his voice quiet and his fists clenched.

"W-what?" The question caught Grissom out, causing him to stutter.

"You heard me. Seems to me Sara left in a real hurry. No-one except you knows why and you haven't been saying much. Did she see a different side of you? Was she running because of what she thought you might do to her if she stayed? Is that why you killed Laura McCain? Sara upped and left before you could do it to her so you took your revenge on the nearest looking woman you could lay your murderin' hands on?"

Grissom was left speechless by the realization of just how far Nick's feelings towards him went. He tried to make a conciliatory gesture with his hands but was thwarted by the restrictions on their movement.

"See," Nick was actually sneering at him now, an expression the normally genial man reserved for the worst low-lifes he came across in his work, "even now you won't deny it. You stand there expecting pity 'cos you wound up in prison, but you've never told me you didn't kill the woman. In fact, I'm not aware of you tellin' anyone that. You think you're smart, not admitting it with your 'Nolo Contendere' plea, but what's wrong with 'Not Guilty', 'I didn't do it'? You know what? I reckon you couldn't plead 'Not Guilty' because you know just how guilty you really are. So come on, tell me different, look me in the eye and tell me you're not a murderer, that you didn't kill Laura McCain." _Please tell me you didn't do it, _the part of Nick that still wanted Grissom to be a hero added silently.

No, he hadn't said that to anyone, not since he'd agreed to the plea bargain. He hadn't even said it to Jim or David; they'd simply decided he was innocent for themselves.

"What would be the point?" Gil asked. "You've clearly made up your own mind about this regardless of what I might say. How many times have I told you over the years to believe the evidence not the suspect? People lie, the evidence doesn't and this time it says I'm the perp."

"I told you before; I can't work on the evidence alone, that I need to hear what the people have to say too. Don't you remember me pointing out that I'm not _you_, Grissom, although there was a time when I wanted to be? Right now I'm glad I never even came close."

Nick shook is head in mock sorrow. "How am I supposed to interpret it if you can't even bring yourself to say the words? I can only think that you won't say it because you're too much of a coward to lie to my face."

The restraints tugged at Grissom's wrists as he instinctively tried to perform one of his habitual self comforting gestures like rubbing his face or running a hand through his hair. He raised his head so that he could look at Nick clearly from under the peak of the cap he couldn't reach to remove and swallowed back the tears of misery that threatened to overwhelm him as he reacted to the anger focussed against him. Nick was right about one thing at least, the younger man did deserve the truth.

"I didn't kill Laura McCain." His voice was quiet but steady. Nick just looked at him.

"I'm not a murderer, I didn't kill Laura McCain." Grissom's voice was louder now, and stronger, a little of his anger at Nick's abuse showing through.

"I didn't do it, I didn't kill her." Grissom's voice started to get higher in pitch and Nick noticed an odd expression on the face in front of him.

"I didn't kill Laura McCain, I didn't kill Laura McCain, I didn't kill Laura McCain." It wasn't a chant exactly, but Gil was repeating the phrase now like it had become his personal mantra.

"I didn't do it, I didn't kill Laura McCain, I didn't do it, I didn't kill Laura McCain." Grissom was starting to look frightened now and Nick tried to tell him he could stop now, that he'd heard the first time.

"I didn't do it, I didn't kill Laura McCain, I didn't kill Laura McCain, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't kill Laura McCain." Over and over he said it and now Grissom's movements and expression were becoming more agitated and his voice higher and more fearful.

"Griss? Grissom? Come on, I heard you, you can stop now."

Grissom shook his head, his eyes wide and his hands tugging at the restraints so hard that it had to be hurting him, despite the padding. "I didn't do it, I didn't kill Laura McCain," he repeated again.

Suddenly Jim Brass was running up the stairs. Gil didn't seem to notice his friend was there, he was staring at his own hands as they fought the cuffs securing them as if they were some fascinating objects that didn't belong to him at all; and still he kept repeating the same words over and over.

Even when Jim gently put his hands on Gil's shoulders and forced the other man to look at him, all Grissom could say in acknowledgement was, "I didn't do it, Jim, I didn't kill Laura McCain."

"It's OK, Gil, I know you didn't, it's all right. Come on now; let's start by getting you sitting down.

Grissom allowed his hampered steps to be slowly guided toward a painted blanket box near the head of the stairs. Once he was seated on it, Jim also sat beside him. The presence of his old friend seemed to help, the volume and frequency of his repetitions quickly reduced, although if Brass asked him a question he could only respond with some variation on not having killed Laura McCain and it clearly frightened him. Grissom's hand movements also began to lessen, but Jim could see redness developing around the anxious man's wrists from the constant pulling.

Nick looked on, unable to draw his eyes away from what was happening, as Brass laid one of his hands over Grissom's cuffed wrists to try and settle the movement while using the other to operate his radio. He could no longer hear Grissom's voice but he could see the man's lips moving periodically. Once done with the radio Brass' other arm came down and settled on Grissom's hunched shoulders, only to be rapidly withdrawn as a man wearing the dull green uniform of a prison guard came up the stairs, closely followed by Catherine Willows.

The guard squatted down in front of Grissom and appeared to speak to both Gil and Jim before rising and coming over to Catherine, who was now standing silently beside Nick.

"I know you don't want to go into details, but can I ask if you've got everything you need from the prisoner?"

"Not everything." Catherine admitted.

"Well, having talked to Captain Brass and had a look at Price I want to increase his level of sedation. If you still have a use for him I'm willing to give him half the dose I would if I were taking him back to prison straight away. When I've done that I'd like to take him out to sit quietly in the van for a while. If he's up to it once the medication kicks in I'll bring him back to you, but I'm making no promises. OK?"

Catherine agreed and once again Nick watched as the guard produced latex gloves, water and a bottle of pills from a bag he was carrying and proceeded to dose Grissom. Nick was shaken to see that Grissom wasn't even trusted to hold the water bottle for himself. Seeing his old boss meekly submitting to the mouth inspection afterwards also left him aghast.

A quick call on the guard's radio summoned the remainder of James Price's escort and soon Grissom was being taken downstairs and out of the building.

Brass, who had managed a brief chat with Paul while the other guards dealt with Grissom's chains, came to join Nick and Catherine.

"I couldn't get too much out of Gil's guard. As far as he's concerned I'm just a nosy cop with no interest in 'James Price' beyond what information I can get from him, he's not obliged to tell me anything. Apparently they knew it was possible that something like this would happen, the meds Gil's on now have stopped him from having the absences, but it was always possible that other symptoms would emerge to replace them if he was put under more stress."

Jim stopped to drag his hand over his craggy face and take a deep breath.

"The guard I was talking to normally works on the prison psychiatric wing but is now assigned solely to caring for Gil. At least they're doing that for him, and he did tell me he was feeling better earlier. He also seemed genuinely relieved to see the guy, so I'm just gonna try and be grateful for that."

"Yeah, Gil seemed almost like his old self when I first talked to him." said Catherine, still a little upset by her friend's rapid deterioration, knowing that she was at least partly to blame. Unfortunately Nick was about to rub that in.

"So why'd you assign me to work with him? You knew I'd have a problem with it and that I'd take it out on Griss." Nick was still reeling from what he'd just seen of Grissom's condition and he couldn't understand why Catherine had acted the way she did if she had even a vague idea how badly Grissom might react.

"Well, firstly, we didn't know that Gil had started to get help with his problems. Until today whenever he's been stressed he's just kind of zoned out. We thought that if things got unpleasant between the two of you Gil would just withdraw into himself and you'd see that something is seriously wrong without Gil himself really being aware of what was happening. I admit I wouldn't normally have risked even that, but once Jim persuaded me to actively look into the possibility that Gil's decision to take the rap for Laura McCain's death was not because he actually did it, we soon realised that we're going to need your help."

Nick turned to Jim, "If Grissom is innocent, how come all the evidence says otherwise? He said himself that I should believe that, not what he says. He has to be guilty." It wasn't that Nick really wanted Grissom to have done the killing; he just couldn't believe that someone innocent would actively choose to go to jail. Gil didn't even seem to have a reason for his behaviour, like trying to protect someone.

"Or maybe he was framed." responded Brass. Nick just looked at him for a moment. "You genuinely believe that? Who does he say did it?"

"Gil hasn't said anything, I don't think the idea has seriously occurred to him. The evidence is so strongly against him that I suspect the only way there could be so much of it and for Gil still to be innocent is that someone has been deliberately stacking it against him."

"I'm starting to agree with Jim." Catherine joined the conversation. "The evidence looks pretty conclusive, but that in itself rings alarm bells. If Grissom really had cold bloodedly planned a murder it would have been a lot less obvious that he did it than this, he certainly wouldn't have left clues as obvious as his fingerprints lying around. That means we have to look at alternative explanations, one of which is that someone has framed him. I think we have reasonable doubt about what happened and we owe it to Gil to look further into this," Now Catherine played her trump card, "just like I did when it was you that was the murder suspect."

"I appreciate what you did for me back then, Cath, but at least I was making the effort to defend myself."

"I think that, for the time being, we have to act as though Gil is doing that too, and hope that, if we do find something conclusive, he will actually allow his attorney to find some way to appeal."

"Which, from the way my Dad talks about 'no contest' cases, will be a miracle all by itself. OK I'm in, for now anyway, so what is it that I can give you that no-one else can?"

Now Jim re-entered the discussion.

"Well, it's been a while since I worked at the lab, but I assume you guys still use the same method of taking theories and then evolving them as the evidence tells you which parts of the theory are right or wrong. If our starting theory is that Gil Grissom was framed for murder we need two things from you. First we need to disprove Henderson PD's theory that Gil performed the initial break in himself. Someone is working on supporting Gil's alibi for that time period, but you might be able to help by coming from the opposite angle. All the evidence Gil collected after he took over at the McCain house has to be rejected, but is it possible that there might be something in the evidence that you collected that might show who really did it or at least that Gil didn't?"

"I can't think of anything right now, but I'm certainly prepared to get it out and look it over again. So, what comes second?"

"We need to know why you left the crime scene. Somehow the reason never got onto the case file. Could whatever it was have been a deliberate set up to draw you away? Again, if it was, could Grissom have done it, or would it have to be someone else?"

"It never got onto the case file because no-one asked me. I didn't volunteer it either, it would have sounded kind of embarrassing." Nick admitted. "After having my own home invasion problem a few years back I had an alarm system fitted. It's one of those that connect to a central office and, as well as sensors on the doors and windows, there are movement detectors in most of the rooms too. On the night of Laura McCain's murder I had a call from the security company saying that, although all the entrances seemed secure, the internal sensors kept firing. I had to leave the scene to go and meet one of their guys at my place so we could check to see what was going on before deciding whether to bring in the police." Nick paused, rubbing the back of his neck as though embarrassed.

"And?" Catherine queried her curiosity as keen as ever.

"And, when we went in, it turned out the neighbour's pet house rabbit had managed to burrow its way through the dry wall between our apartments and was busy exploring my place. I nearly shot the thing when it came bounding out of my bedroom while I was checking around to see if anyone was there."

"Has the hole been repaired?" asked Jim, "Can you go over it to see if the rabbit made it all by itself or if Bugs had some help maybe? You'd better also check if your neighbours have recently given any strangers access to the area where the hole was made."

"OK, there's a board over the hole for now, but I can easily move that. I'll talk to my neighbours too, but I also think that there are other questions that need to be raised.

"If this was a plan to make sure Grissom wound up running the crime scene and this was our theoretical framer's way of getting me out of the way, then either the framer already knew I'd be the one assigned to the case originally..."

Catherine jumped in with, "I can't see how he could, I only decided myself a couple of minutes before you went out. I wasn't expecting to be handing out the assignments that night, so I didn't bother to check the slips in advance."

"OK, in which case, did the framer have any contingency plans in case someone else got the job? I know it could be difficult because there are so many possible ways of doing it, but maybe someone should check for any signs of distractions being set up for you, Warrick and Greg."

"It's a good idea, but you're also right about here being a lot of possibilities to check. I think we should concentrate on the bunny for now. After all, if someone had asked me to come up with a list of ten ways to lure Nick Stokes away from a crime scene, I don't think the neighbour's pets would have appeared anywhere on it. Trying to do the same thing for the rest of the team could have us trying to follow up thirty possible leads and still not being sure of finding anything."

The conversation came to an end, and Nick found himself wandering away from Catherine and Brass as he cursed himself for being so blind. How ironic that the member of Grissom's old team most sure of the man's guilt could turn out to hold one of the keys to proving Grissom's innocence.

Brass' radio beeped at him and he stepped away a few feet to respond to it.

"Brass. Yeah. Yeah. No. Oh OK. Yes. But he's OK? Right. No, absolutely, it's your call. Yes, I'll let her know. No, that's fine, thanks for all your help today, it's appreciated." Jim put the radio away and rejoined the CSIs.

"That was Gil's escort. The sedative has helped, he's calmed right down and he's managed to stop fidgeting and repeating himself. Unfortunately he's also very sleepy and the guy in charge of him thinks it would be unsafe to have him come into the crime scene again. Instead they want to take him back to the prison and let him sleep it off properly. I think that's best for Gil too, in the circumstances, so I didn't argue."

Catherine nodded in agreement. Nick was more ambivalent, obviously he wanted what was right for Grissom, but he also wished he'd had the opportunity to apologize. Nick was aware of his own tendency to see things in black and white but, having talked to Jim ad Cath, he was starting to realise that the Laura McCain case contained more shades of grey than Grissom's hair and beard put together.

**A/N 2 **I'd just like to point out that, at the time of posting, the season 8 finale episode _For Gedda_ has not yet been screened in the UK and I have been doing my best to avoid spoilers, including episode based fanfic. Therefore any similarities between this story and that episode are purely coincidental. I'm hoping that there's very little overlap, because I already have much of the rest of this piece plotted out and I'd hate to have to change things now to avoid being accused of plagiarism.

So fingers crossed that I've avoided that and generally done OK with this chapter. As always I'd appreciate your comments.


	17. Worth the Price?

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 17**

**Worth the Price?**

"Schizophrenia."

Al Robbins neatly tweaked the coffee cup from Catherine's hand before its contents could spill onto the floor of his office at the morgue.

"I thought so. If you were really here to get my opinion on the behaviour of one of your suspects you'd have told me a lot more about the case and you certainly wouldn't have reacted like that to my response. You're asking me about Gil, aren't you?" His ice blue eyes bored into Catherine, daring her to lie to him.

"Yes." she answered, looking down at her hands. Then she looked up, her own blue eyes returning the searching gaze. "You really think that those symptoms mean that he may be becoming schizophrenic?"

"It has to be a possibility; the absences you described sound like brief episodes of catatonic stupor and one of the most common explanations for catatonia is schizophrenia. The diagnosis would also fit in with the negativism, anxiety and agitation you've described. However, even taken with those other problems, it is only one of the possible causes and, now that I know who we're talking about, I can make a far more educated guess." He handed back Catherine's coffee and took a sip of his own before continuing.

"Catherine, please bear in mind that I can't give you a definitive diagnosis on this. Even when I was a General Practitioner I only had to know enough about this kind of thing to know when to refer a case and it's hardly something that comes up in my current line of work. You can't spot mental illness at an autopsy.

"The secondary symptoms plus Gil's generally good health make me think that the problem is not physical, although I would double check that if he was my patient. Very severe depression is one of the other mental health problems which catatonia can be associated with, and it would certainly fit with the other things you've told me about his recent behaviour. I also happen to know that Gil has suffered from mild depression in the past."

"Gil, depressed?" Catherine was astonished.

"He never liked to admit it was that. He always persuaded himself that he was just in the early stages of burn out. Fortunately whatever he's chosen to call it, he's always been self-aware enough to see it coming and take action. Taking a break from this job to do something else he loves in a less stressful environment seems to have worked for him in the past, without him having to resort to medication."

"His teaching sabbaticals?"

"Indeed. Unfortunately I have the feeling that his last one wasn't as successful as in the past. I think he just assumed that what had worked for him before would do so again. Of course now we know there was a factor he hadn't had to allow for previously."

"Sara."

Al nodded, "I think he missed her too much to find his break as restful as he needed it to be. I don't think he had fully recovered by the time he returned and there was no real opportunity for him to settle back into a regular routine before even more stress was piled on."

Catherine had to agree, the Miniature Killer case with its climax, Sara's abduction, was hardly routine or stress free and, just when things seemed to be getting back to normal, Sara's own problems had led to her departure. If Gil was already dealing with depression he must have really been struggling by then. No wonder he'd succumbed to physical illness for the first time in years.

And then Laura McCain was murdered.

"So," Catherine asked Al, "would his being depressed already explain his behaviour immediately after he was charged with the murder?"

Al pondered for a few minutes, his bushy white brows crawling steadily closer together. "If Gil had already been mildly depressed for some time then the psychological shock of his arrest could easily have begun a rapid downward spiral into moderate and, finally, the severe depression that he may have now. Mild pre-existing symptoms would worsen and new ones might become apparent. That may include low self esteem, something which would have been made worse for Gil because his arrest lost him the job which defined his self image. Gil may also have had problems with his concentration and making decisions. Most significantly, in my opinion, people with depression can have feelings of inappropriate guilt. Gil may have known he was innocent intellectually, but he may still have felt emotionally that he deserved to be punished. He may also have felt, indeed he might still feel, that fighting the evidence would be hopeless and that he isn't worth our help. If the ADA went in hard Gil could well have been persuaded to take an unfair plea bargain, although his own lawyer should have prevented that. Of course, this is all speculation, just because these are known symptoms doesn't mean Gil would have them all."

"If Gil was already depressed before this happened, why didn't we notice?" Cath was feeling a certain amount of guilt herself.

"In some ways I think we did, but we assumed his behaviour was just his usual response to stressful events. It's so typical for him to withdraw from his friends at just the point when most people would go to theirs that it didn't even occur to me that it's also a sign of depression. Gil's personality would conceal other aspects of the illness too. If someone like Greg gets even a little down it becomes noticeable at once, Gil however is less demonstrative when it comes to his emotions and also a very private person. He's so difficult to read when he doesn't want to be that, even knowing him as well as we do, we missed huge things like his impending deafness and his relationship with Sara until circumstances forced him to tell us about them. And, if we were all so blind that we didn't notice those, is it that surprising we didn't notice a gradual deterioration in his mood? Even Gil himself might not have realised how bad things were getting"

Catherine sighed, Al had a point, but she still felt like she'd let Gil down badly. Instead of seeing Gil's lack of fight as a sign that he was guilty, she should have realised that it was an indication that something was badly wrong with her friend, and she hadn't.

Now it was time to make up for that.

"A few of us are looking at the McCain case again, Doc, would you be prepared to help?"

"Of course. Our vic's body was released for burial some time ago, but I'd be more than willing to go over the autopsy report for you. How about we meet in Gil's, or rather your, office in a couple of hours and I'll let you know what I've come up with?"

Catherine smiled with relief, "Thanks, Al, I'd be more than glad if you would, and I'd be more than glad if it were still Gil's office too."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Jim Brass clicked off his mobile phone. A smile crossed his face in spite of himself. Nick had just called from his apartment to say that there were some possible tool marks around the hole that his neighbour's rabbit had got through. Now he was waiting for his neighbours to get back so that he could ask them if any strangers had come into their home. That would be the easy part. Nick would also have to take an impression of their pet's teeth and then persuade them to cut an even larger section out of the partition wall so that he could get the entire hole to the lab. _Can you have an entire hole?_ Brass thought to himself with a smirk. Nick was going to have to rely on his Texan charm for this one; there was no way to obtain a warrant under these circumstances.

Jim continued his perambulation through the lab. He had a file from one of his official cases under his arm. Catherine was recording all the resources being used on Grissom's case for billing purposes later but the paperwork couldn't be officially lodged until Grissom himself lodged his formal intent to appeal with the court. In the mean time it would be better if a certain Deputy Director didn't find out quite how much lab time was going into Gil's case.

John Morgan, Grissom's attorney, was concentrating on finding sufficient cause for the court to allow an appeal and, if it was allowed, getting the 'Nolo Contendere' plea withdrawn in favour of a 'Not Guilty' one, and therefore getting Gil's current conviction quashed. Of course that wouldn't absolve Gil of the crime he'd been accused of so, in the mean time, as much work as possible was being done to prepare for the trial which would almost certainly follow. Morgan would request that any such trial should happen as quickly as possible so that Grissom could get on with trying to recover from the effects of his ordeal and it would also improve any chance that Grissom would be allowed out of prison pending the hearing. All this was assuming that they would find enough evidence to prove his innocence of course.

Jim slipped into the Trace Lab. David Hodges greeted him with a huge grin and Brass just restrained himself from jumping back in mock horror. By now he knew that David probably wouldn't get the joke and didn't want any confusion to get in the way of David revealing exactly why he looked like the cat that got the cream.

Or should that have been the dog?

David moved over to a side bench and picked up an evidence bag containing a peculiarly shaped blue rubber object.

"This," he said waving the bag at Jim, "is a 'Kong' toy. I spotted it the first time I was over at Gil's place. I remembered it because it was the only dog toy I could see. It also looked pretty new.

"When I went to talk to Grissom's dog sitter she told me that Grissom always collected all Hank's toys together and took the whole lot with him whenever he dropped the dog off with her. She didn't recognise the 'Kong' and it looks quite new, so I figured that the reason Gil didn't pack it when he dropped his dog off on the night of Laura McCain's murder was because he didn't look for it. It wasn't one of Hank's regular toys."

"OK, whichever of us sees Gil next can check that with him; but what's the significance? What would be the point of giving the dog something else to play with? Maybe Hank just found it on one of his walks."

David's smile grew wider. "Ah, but this is a 'Kong'. 'Kong' toys are designed especially to keep dogs occupied if they're going to be left alone for a while." Hodges turned the bag enabling Jim to see that there was a hole in the base of the cone shaped toy. "The idea is that you stuff it with food treats and the dog is kept amused for ages trying to get them out. Fortunately for us the design is good enough that Hank didn't manage to extract the entire contents. I got Henry to test what was left inside and, once again, we have chloral hydrate! Only trace amounts this time, nowhere near enough to kill a dog of Hank's size, but the chemical is normally diluted in water before it's administered. Even like that it can cause stomach irritation, if Hank was getting it neat on the biscuits in this toy, then the poor animal definitely would have been ill with vomiting and diarrhoea, it's no wonder Gil had to have him in the park longer than normal."

David was smug now; he knew that confirming Gil's alibi for the time of the initial break in was important.

"That is good." The praise cost Jim nothing, he was happy to stroke Hodges' ego a little, the man was working like a Trojan on Grissom's behalf. "Just one thing, can we prove that Hank did actually play with the toy?"

David's smugness went up a notch, knowing that he'd anticipated Jim's question.

"There was a lot of saliva around the hole in the toy, where the dog had been trying to get his tongue inside. I gave a sample to Wendy and she matched the DNA to Hank."

Jim was confused. Frowning, he asked where the comparison sample had come from.

"The McCain case evidence," was the brief reply.

Jim gestured that he wanted more details. Hodges rubbed his hand over the back of his neck as if embarrassed.

"When Gil's clothes from that night were examined under an ALS they recorded an, err, an 'unidentified stain, biological in nature' on the crotch area of his trousers. It was only after they tested it for DNA and found 78 chromosomes instead of 46 that they realised it was dog spittle. It meant that Wendy already had Hank on file."

Jim rubbed a hand over his face to try and keep it straight. He was going to have fun explaining those results to Gil's attorney.

"That's great David. Good work. Speaking of which, I'd better let you get on, before anyone notices that not everyone around here is necessarily doing the work that Conrad Ecklie thinks they are! I have an important case meeting with Catherine and Doc. Robbins in a couple of minutes, just don't ask me which case. With a Machiavellian twitch of his eyebrows Brass left David's domain and headed for the room that had once been Gil Grissom's sanctum.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Do you know if Gil having to leave the crime scene early will cause problems for him?" Catherine asked while she and Jim waited for Robbins to join them.

"I'm hoping not. The Under-Sheriff did see him at the scene, so I suspect he'll remember that when he comes across the paperwork and just sign it off automatically. Anyway, if you include the time Gil was sitting in the prisoner transport before they decided he wasn't fit to continue he was there well over an hour, if necessary it should be possible to persuade anyone that we need to that Gil had done his bit in that time, as long as we don't get into what 'his bit' was."

"But what about the next time?"

"Well, right now I'm doing my best to persuade my colleagues to avoid requesting his help, if you do the same with the other supervisors here maybe we can avoid any more of these trips until Gil's attorney can put together Gil's request to appeal. If the judge approves the request Morgan will try and get Gil out of prison, but if that doesn't work he'll certainly ask that the bargain be temporarily put aside until the hearing."

"And if the judge doesn't approve?" said Catherine, not wanting to think about the worst scenario but worried enough about her friend that she felt she had to.

"If that happens or, and this is what really worries me, if Gil refuses to agree to make an appeal, then Morgan will bring forward a secondary motion against the rider on his plea bargain that requires him to be available to the Sheriff's Office. He should be able to fight it on two grounds. The first is that, considering Gil's current state of mind, it is cruel and unusual punishment, particularly if you consider how long he has to remain in restraints sometimes. The other is that it's preventing Gil being transferred to serve his sentence in another state and is therefore detrimental to his safety."

"That sounds like it would work, but you're already worried that Gil won't allow his attorney to launch an appeal to change his plea. What if he also refuses to contest the validity of the plea bargain?"

"If he does that then, as holder of his medical power of attorney, I will do it for him."

Jim's eyes took on a look that was both sad and incredibly serious as he went on to tell Catherine of the decision he had made after a long discussion with Grissom's lawyer. "Even if that means having Gil declared mentally incompetent."

There was a long silence after that, interrupted only when Al Robbins came into the office as fast as his disability would allow him to, his blue eye's sparkling with excitement. Cath and Jim's moods immediately lifted a little in anticipation.

"I've found something quite interesting," the coroner admitted when questioned. "But first you'd better call in your toxicology guy. I think he may have some light to shed on my discovery.

As Al settled himself into a convenient chair, Catherine quickly dialled Henry's cell number. She needed to get the young man in there as fast as possible. She didn't know how long she could wait to find out what had made Robbins so excited.

A/N "I'm going to make you lot wait too!" she said before dissolving into evil laughter...

Maybe this is my revenge for the drop in the number of reviews I got for the last chapter despite its extra length, or maybe I thought there was enough medical stuff from Al at the beginning of this chapter. It's also possible I need a little more time to make sure I get the next bit right. Whichever it is I'm sure that getting lots of reviews will help me with writing the next chapter. You know where the button is.


	18. Price War

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 18**

**Price War**

John Morgan walked into the prison interview room, briefcase in hand.

"Before you go," he said to the guard who had shown him in, "I'd like you to remove my client's handcuffs."

The guard was reluctant. "I'm not sure that would be wise, sir. Price isn't very stable; I wouldn't like to be held responsible if things get out of hand."

"I am fully aware of my client's difficulties. I'm also aware that the only person he's even come close to harming is himself and that his episodes are always triggered by stress. Therefore my work will certainly be a lot easier if I can deal with Mr. Price in as relaxed an environment as possible. Remove the cuffs and I assure you that you will not have to take the blame for anything that happens as a result."

With a shrug the guard gave in and released Grissom's wrists. He then made a point of looking down to check that Gil's ankle restraints were securely attached to the floor before finally leaving the room.

Morgan set his case down at his end of the table before walking round to offer his right hand to his new client.

"Doctor Grissom, I apologise for the delay in coming to see you, but, having discussed things with your friend, Captain Brass, I felt that our meeting would be more productive if I could come to you with a certain amount of progress already made. We'll get onto exactly what progress shortly, but first let me say that I have a great deal of professional respect for you and that I intend to do all I can to improve your situation."

Grissom accepted the offered hand weakly, but only managed a vague smile in response. Once his hand was released he continued silently waiting to see what else Morgan had to stay. He hadn't spoken much in the week since the incident at the crime scene, when he hadn't been able to stop repeating himself. It wasn't that he couldn't talk, but it always seemed to require more effort than it was worth. That was pretty much his opinion of this interview too. If Morgan wanted to champion a hopeless cause that was his problem, Grissom just wished that he could believe something might come of it.

Realising that his client wasn't going to say anything at this stage, Morgan took the seat opposite Grissom and removed several papers from his case, together with a pen.

"Can I start by getting you to sign these? This one confirms our verbal agreement that I am representing you now, and this second one, which you should sign as James Price, informs the prison of that. My legal credentials were sufficient to get me in for this initial visit but I'll need to give them this if we're to meet on a regular basis."

He watched as his client obediently autographed the sheets before quickly sliding a few more across the table. "These all need your normal signature."

The grizzled head tilted up and, from behind his tinted lenses, Grissom's eyes met those of his attorney for the first time. There was a moment's hesitation before the forensics expert spoke. "W-what am I signing these ones for?" he asked, the voice which had always sounded so confident when Morgan heard it in court now seeming hesitant and unsure.

John Morgan wasn't sure if he was pleased or not that his client had asked the question. He'd talked to Captain Brass for quite a while about this man's state of mind and he should have known what to expect, but somehow it was still a shock to see how drastically different 'James Price' was from Doctor Gilbert Grissom, the sharp witted, erudite expert witness he'd cross examined in the past. Grissom's disinterest in the proceedings so far had been disconcerting, but if it had continued long enough to allow him to get the sheets signed without any arguments it might have saved him some trouble. Still, he didn't intend to dupe his client in any way, so it was probably better to get this over with now.

"OK. Well, this one is to inform the court that you intend to appeal your conviction. This next form is a request that you be allowed not to be physically present at the initial appeal hearing on medical grounds. I don't want you to have to spend more time in restraints than necessary, particularly as the hearing itself will probably raise your anxiety levels more than you really need right now. Instead I'll try and arrange for you to use the video link between here and the court.

"Now, the best we can hope for from that hearing is that the judge will quash your current conviction and send the case to trial, allowing you to enter a 'not guilty' plea. If that happens then I'll be requesting a speedy trial, which is this form here and I'll also be requesting that you be allowed out of here while you await your trial date. Captain Brass has volunteered to guarantee any bail amount which may be set. Lastly, this one, which again needs to be signed using your pseudonym, gives me access to 'James Price's' medical records since you've been here." John Morgan added the final form to the pile. "That's it, for now, sorry to drown you in paperwork, but I need the appeal application ASAP and, if things are to move as fast as I hope, then I don't want to have to hold things up while I drive out here to have you sign something."

His client was slowly shaking his head. Morgan wasn't sure if this was an indication that he was going to refuse to sign, or because Doctor Grissom was confused by how many different forms there were. He decided to assume the latter and go back through the various sheets one by one, even if he was wrong and Grissom simply didn't want to agree to everything, this approach might get a few signed and identify the precise sticking point.

"How about you start by signing the document I've drawn up regarding the application to appeal and then we just work through the rest of them one at a time?"

"I can't appeal; I pleaded 'no contest'. All this is going to do is give them an excuse to say that I'm in breach of the bargain that was made."

"There is a way to allow you to withdraw your plea, even though you've now been convicted and sentenced. I am going to prove that the deal on which your plea was based was manifestly unjust, and that you agreed to it whilst under extreme stress at a time when you were not at your full mental capacity. With Captain Brass' assistance I think it can also be proved that your legal representation at the time was not of sufficient quality and may even have been deliberately detrimental. After all that I'd be very surprised if we didn't win. As for being in breach of your agreement with the DA and Sheriff's Department, well personally I think scrapping it would be no bad thing. In fact, if your appeal request is refused, I will be asking for your consent to challenge the terms of the plea bargain."

The man opposite was still unhappy. "Even if all that happens I'll still end up being tried in the end won't I? I'm going to be old enough if I get out of here on probation in ten; what if my sentence is increased? W-What if the jury decides to convict me of first degree murder? I could die in here, one way or another. I-I might never be free again." There was a pause then a quiet "Oh God," as Grissom hid his face with his hands and began to rock gently in his chair.

"I won't allow that to happen, Doctor Grissom, I promise. Nor will any of your friends, believe me. Doctor Grissom? Doctor Grissom!" For a moment Morgan thought he was going to have to abandon his visit and call for assistance, but then, his hands still masking his face, Grissom spoke.

"D-don't call me that."

"Would you rather I called you Mr. Price? I assure you that it's unnecessary, no one can hear us while we're in here."

"No, I meant don't call me Doctor. Every time you give me that title right now it's like you're just mocking me. Even before this I only used it professionally or academically, and now; now I don't merit it at all."

Morgan was taken aback by his client's words, but decided to go along with his request, he needed the man calm again if he was going to achieve anything at all from this interview.

"OK, I'm sorry, Mr. Grissom then."

"No, no Mr., just 'Grissom' is fine. It's what I'm used to." The hands had dropped away now and Morgan was surprised to see the plaintive expression on Gil's face. It was clear that he needed to be addressed by that name, perhaps to convince him that Morgan was actually on his side.

"OK, Grissom, and I'm John. Now, I don't want to push, but if you could sign the form. I appreciate your concern regarding the consequences, but I promise I won't submit the full paperwork for the case without asking you first. All this form does is say that you intend to appeal in the future. It opens the way for me to pursue my own investigations further and, if at the end of them you're still concerned that a hearing will leave you in a worse situation than you are now, then I'll simply withdraw the statement of intent on your behalf and it will simply be assumed that what I found out wasn't enough to support a hearing. OK?"

Grissom had moved the sheet of paper back in front of him, but still seemed unwilling to pick up the pen. John tried another tack.

"Remember I told you that your friends won't allow you to spend the rest of your life in prison? Well, a lot of them have already been working on your case. Ms. Willows has been filling in the paperwork for the occasions when Crime Lab resources have been used, but, as I'm sure you're more aware of than I am, she can't bill anything to your appeal unless there's an appeal to bill it too. So if it's found out that she's already aware that the lab is being used on your case without prior authorization she could be in a lot of trouble, as could all these people apparently." He removed another sheet of paper from his case and passed it to Grissom to read. As he scanned the list Gil realised that most of the night shift were listed there. Most had actively worked on the case already, according to Catherine, while Warrick was implicated because he had been covering a lot of the others' work. Catherine also pointed out that Greg was awaiting the paperwork because, "even he can't smuggle a car that shouldn't be there into the lab garage and expect no-one to notice". At the end Catherine had added the following.

"Be strong, Gil. From what I've seen so far there's already enough new evidence to show 'reasonable doubt' and Doc Robbins has come up with something which indicates that Laura McCain had already been poisoned _before_ she entered PD headquarters, at a time when you were sitting in Jim's office in full view of anyone who walked past. It seems that the injection site was a deliberate attempt to mislead and throw out any attempts to work out when exactly Miss McCain was dosed. Her behaviour on the CCTV and the fact she fell when you walked her to her car all match the Doc's suggestion and now Henry is working his socks off trying to extrapolate back from the different levels of chloral hydrate's various metabolites in both the victim's blood and her urine and allowing for their half life's in the human body. I think he'll do it, and then you'll be completely exonerated, so relax, we've got it covered!"

By the time Grissom had got to the bottom of the page he was leaning forward and resting his forehead on his right hand. John almost thought he could see the man's lips moving as he read the more technical parts of the note.

"Are you OK, Grissom? You seem to be struggling."

"I'm sorry, but it's hard to concentrate, the drugs... I feel so tired."

Now this was something Morgan needed to hear about. Quickly he resumed his seat so that they could talk without Grissom having to look up at him. After grabbing a notepad and a second pen from his case he looked over to his client ready to find out as much as he could about Gil's medical treatment.

Through the fabric of his uniform shirt Grissom was absentmindedly fiddling with a small ball of cotton wool that had been taped onto the inside of his left elbow. He told Morgan how the head of psychology at the prison had come down to see him in his cell almost as soon as she had returned from her leave two days earlier. In order for them to have some privacy, without any guards being close enough to hear what was being said, Gil had been put in soft restraints once again and, because of that, he'd found it hard to concentrate on what the woman was saying to him. At some point she'd mentioned reading the reports of what had happened during her absence and he thought there might have been an apology for not spotting the severity of his depression earlier, although he wasn't sure. After a very one-sided interview she'd told Gil that she wanted him on anti-depressants as soon as possible but, because they would take a while to work, she wanted him to remain on the diazepam for a little longer then come off it gradually, so that his catatonic episodes would hopefully remain under control. Until he was off the Diazepam completely he would be closely monitored for signs that the drugs were combining in a way which might have an adverse effect. Apparently that included regular blood tests.

"Ok," said Morgan, looking up from his notes, "can you tell me which antidepressants you're being given?"

"I... No" Grissom shook his head, if he'd been told at all it hadn't registered and, until now, it hadn't occurred to him to ask.

"Alright," John said, retrieving one of the unsigned forms from the pile, "how about you sign this, it's just a release so I can see your medical records. As it's for the prison you need to sign it 'James Price'."

Once Grissom had scrawled across the bottom of the paper John asked him how he was feeling, were there any signs the new medication might be having an effect.

"I think it's too early to say. I know I feel more tired and, well, fuzzy, but then I am taking two meds at once, both at full strength. The psychologist says that, if I'm lucky, I might notice my mood improving in just a few days, but it might take up to four weeks, or not work at all. I'm just hoping something happens before I'm off the Diazepam completely. I think I prefer to the numbness to the complete absences." He looked down at the double red lines surrounding his wrists. "I think the guards here like it too. This is the first time they've gone back to using the steel cuffs in over a week now; but maybe that's just because you're here."

"And they've been using soft restraints instead?"

Grissom nodded in response and Morgan made another note. Looking at Gil's face he could see the exhaustion written there.

"I think it's time we drew this to a close. Captain Brass has asked me to show you something, but if you have any questions for me maybe we can deal with those first?"

"I can't think of any right now."

"Well, that's fine; I'm going to come see you again next week, so if anything comes up in the mean time write it down so we can deal with it then. Now, do you recognise the object in this photograph?"

Gil looked at the image before him. It was the Kong toy; the picture had been taken with a neutral background and the familiar scale card used in most evidence shots. Grissom's brow furrowed, then he started to shake his head.

"I don't think... No wait, I have seen something like this before. I think they sell them in the store where I buy, where I used to buy, food for my dog."

"Did you ever buy one of these for your dog?"

"No, Sara used to really spoil Hank; she bought him so much stuff I've never needed to get him any more, not even since... No, I haven't bought him one of those and I'm sure Sara never did either."

"That's good, because it's going to help clear you." John had been refilling his case and now added the photograph before snapping it closed. "I will see you next week, hopefully you'll be able to concentrate a little better by then, so I'll ask Ms. Willows to give me a brief run down of the evidence your old team has put together. Maybe that will give you some confidence about going through with an appeal."

He stood up and offered his hand to Grissom once more and was relieved to note the stronger grip he received in response. Gil even managed to say "Thank you."

With that Morgan left the prison. As he drove back across the desert towards his Las Vegas office he pondered the case. He had every confidence in the evidence that was being gathered, his biggest problem was going to be Grissom himself. The lawyer was going to have to pull off a difficult balancing act between proving that his client was open to being misled at the time he entered his plea and the risk that he might be declared unfit to stand trial. He would need to time this well, particularly when obtaining a psychiatric evaluation. He had to show that, while Gil had been seriously ill until very recently, (causing the delay in launching the appeal); he was now improving and would be well enough to go ahead with a trial as soon as possible. First thing tomorrow he would get 'James Price's' records to a psychiatrist who could guide him on when best to schedule an appraisal.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Several minutes after Morgan's departure, a worried looking Paul Anderson came hurrying into the prison interview room. James Price was slumped forward across the metal table.

"James? Can you hear me, James?"

No response.

"We only looked away for a minute, while his lawyer was leaving; when we turned around he was like that. We could see him breathing so we figured we should call you first. Do we need to ask for a doctor to come down from the hospital wing?"

Paul moved closer to the inert figure and laid a hand on Gil's shoulder. There was a mumbling sound and the shoulder twitched away from Paul's touch.

"It's OK, it looks like he's just sleeping, I'll wake him and then we'll need to get him back to his cell ASAP.

"James! Come on now James! It's time to wake up." Suddenly, Grissom's head shot up his expression almost comically dazed and the thin red scar on his right cheek mirrored by a red line on the left where his glasses had pressed into his face.

"Hey, James, it's me. We're going to take you back to your cell now, and then you can sleep properly, alright."

Grissom nodded bemusedly and, with his hands cuffed before him once again, wearily allowed himself to be led away to the relative comfort of his own bunk.

It had been a long morning.

A/N Just an advance warning that after posting the next chapter I will be taking a week long break from working on this story. As each chapter takes me about a week to write that means there could be up to two weeks in between postings. I know some of you will be disappointed, but I need to take a break before my brain gets as befuddled as poor Grissom's is. I also have some RL stuff that can't be left on hold any longer.

A/N2 Thanks for all the reviews for Chapter 17, it just goes to show what shameless begging will do! I hope you'll all be kind enough to R&R this chap. too. If you aren't one of those lovely people who have already added this story to your story alerts you might want to do so now. That way you'll get an e-mail every time I update and won't have the chance to forget about me while I'm away. If you don't know how then you can either select it as an option in the blue box below and then click the button or, better still, you can tick the box at the bottom of the window when you're writing your review. (Yes, that was another blatant hint.)


	19. What Price Love?

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**A/N 1** Thank you for all the comments and good wishes I got after my last Chapter. However, from reading them it seems I wasn't very clear when I wrote my author's note for chapter 18. When I said I intended to take my break after posting the _next_ chapter I meant after this one. Many of you took it to mean I wasn't going to be posting this week. At one point I thought I'd just take the break earlier than I intended, but then I would have disappointed those who _were_ expecting an update this week.

To Post or not to Post? That was the question and, obviously, I went with posting. However, I can confirm that **my next post will be in approximately two weeks time.**

**A/N 2** The above is one of the disadvantages of reading a WIP rather than a finished piece. One of the advantages is that I can tailor some of what I write in response to reader's comments. The following chapter is in response to a large number of queries that I have received regarding a certain person...

**Chapter 19**

**What Price Love?**

Coming on duty for his day shift as a prison guard, Paul Anderson walked into the Segregation Wing administrative office and reached for the log for cell 17, currently occupied by his particular charge, prisoner number 4929, James Price.

He then moved over to the senior officer's desk to get his copy of the overnight Incident Report Sheet. The night shift supervisor was still present carrying out the hand over to his day shift counterpart. Looking up and noticing which cell log Anderson was holding, he grinned.

"So, I take it you're Price's nursemaid? Shame psych only thought to give extra cover to Days; we had some real fun with your boy last night. Here, take a look." He passed the Incident Sheet over to Paul, then returned to the discussion he was having with his colleague.

Paul stepped out of the office to find a quiet spot to read the reports. The Incident Report mentioned that, at 03.21, Price had woken a number of prisoners in nearby cells by shouting something like "'No, Sarah, no!'" repeatedly. He'd still been crying out when the duty guard had got to his cell, although he appeared to still be asleep. According to the log, he didn't quieten until a number of prison officers had entered his cell and, while holding him down "as a precaution", had physically shaken him awake. That was all that was on that report, so Paul quickly turned to the cell log, which was flagged with a red tag with the number '15' printed on it in white, indicating that the inmate was to be checked on every quarter hour instead of every thirty minutes which was the standard for Segregation prisoners.

Paul ran through the notes for the previous night. They began with several entries of "prisoner in bunk but awake", followed by "prisoner sleeping" for the next few lines. More telling were the occasional notes of "prisoner sleeping but restless". These had become more common until 01.45 when the note read "prisoner awake and out of bunk, claims to be getting himself water." The reports of "sleeping" and "sleeping but restless" resumed after that, the balance of the two increasingly moving towards restless until 03.15 when the comment had been "prisoner sleeping but physically agitated." After the incident, through until the morning alarm and 'lights on' at six all the reports read "Prisoner awake and sitting up. Prisoner requests cell lights are turned on full. Request denied, prisoner cautioned to lie down and advised to sleep."

Now that it was daylight Grissom had finally persuaded himself to lie back down on his bunk. He was still a little afraid to actually go to sleep. Not that that was a problem, there was too much happening on the wing. In fact the noise he could now hear just outside his cell door was probably his breakfast arriving.

"James, are you awake?" It was Paul. Gil waved vaguely in the direction of the observation window with his left hand to indicate that he had heard, but didn't bother to turn away from the wall.

"James, I need to see both your hands, I want to come in so we can talk."

Sighing Grissom rolled onto his back and lifted both arms above his head in surrender. He didn't want to talk to anyone, but he knew Paul wasn't about to let this drop. Once it was clear that the prisoner was empty handed the cell door swung outwards allowing Paul to enter.

"You need any help restraining him? I can't hang around watching from here, I'm supposed to be handing out the inmates' breakfasts soon." asked the second guard, who was observing from the doorway.

"No, you can just lock the door on us, Price won't cause me any problems, will you James?" Gil just looked from one guard to the other with tired eyes; his hands still held well clear of his bedclothes. He didn't intend to cause any trouble, but somehow he doubted that saying so would make any difference to how he was treated, so once again it didn't seem worth making the effort that speech would require. Eventually, the guard shrugged and stepped back to push the door closed. The click of the lock dropping into place echoed briefly off the cell's tiled walls. Grissom took the sound as a signal that he could move and resumed his old position on his side facing the wall, the thin blanket pulled around him for comfort. Paul, meanwhile, settled himself on the small stool which was next to the shelf like 'desk'. Like all the cell's furnishings it was made of metal and fixed firmly in position so that it could not be damaged easily or moved for any reason.

"So, you had a bad night last night, James?" Paul addressed the back of the prisoner's head which, he had to admit, was often almost as expressive as the front. Grissom, having identified the question as rhetorical, didn't bother to reply.

"Do you want to tell me about what happened?"

Nothing.

"How about you start by telling me about 'Sarah'?"

Paul watched Price stiffen at the name. Perhaps he hadn't realised he'd been shouting it in his sleep.

"Is she your girlfriend? Your daughter? Your wife?" Paul didn't see any sign of a wedding ring, but maybe Price chose not to wear one right now. Still waiting for the man on the bunk to speak, he considered what else he might ask, aware that, if 'Sarah' was Price's victim's name he might be getting into territory that could turn out to be a little too dangerous. He was locked in a very small room with a convicted killer, after all.

"F-fiancée. Or at least she w-was."

Now he was getting somewhere. At least Price had said _something_ and Paul had realised recently that Price only stuttered like that when he was anxious or upset about something.

"She left you because of this? I know you only ever get visits from your friend David."

"B-before. S-she doesn't know about this, what happened to me."

"Can't David contact her for you? If she wanted to marry you once she may still care enough to want to know where you are. Perhaps having her visit would help you."

Price hadn't bothered to dress when the bell had gone and now Paul could see his broad shoulders hunching up still further beneath the white undershirt he'd worn to sleep in. "I don't want her to know. She does still care, and she would come back. And it would destroy her, and us, forever."

That had been the first nightmare.

_It had started as a memory of his last crime scene visit but, when he asked Catherine who he was going to work with, it had been Sara's head that had emerged from the stairwell. She'd stared at him for a long moment taking in his prison attire and the fetters he was wearing. In the dream he'd looked down at himself and watched the bonds move and grow like vines until he'd been wound completely in chains from his ankles to his neck, unable to move at all. Then, like Nick, Sara had begun to yell at him, calling him a murderer, denouncing him and telling him she was right to have left him. He'd found himself unable to speak as she'd moved closer and closer and the insults had got worse. He was worse than her father, she told him, at least he'd had his drunkenness as an excuse. Sara had been right in his face when she'd begun to cry, cursing him for making her see him like this, the image fixed in her head forever. Even if he was proved innocent, there would always be the idea of him as a killer in the back of her head. The first man she'd ever truly trusted and that was destroyed now. In the dream he'd been unable to cope with this final revelation, had tried to step back, move away from the intensity of Sara's emotion, but the heavy chains that engulfed him had thrown him off balance and he'd found himself falling down flight after flight of stairs, unable to stop himself, and always with Sara's pale face looking down from above._

He'd struggled to wake from that one, but eventually he'd surfaced and staggered over to his small sink to splash his face with water and get a drink, only to be caught out of bed by an extremely unsympathetic guard.

Paul, however, was doing his best to empathise. "Maybe you should trust her to decide that, she may be stronger than you think."

"That's where I went wrong. I always thought of her as my strong Sara, who did amazing things in spite of going through stuff in her childhood that would make even you, a guard working in a high security prison, uncomfortable if I told you about it. And, when something else terrible happened to her, I didn't understand soon enough that she needed more from me, and I didn't know how to offer it to her when I finally did. She left because she didn't want me to see her break. She wanted to make herself whole before we got married, and all I've done is make sure that is she wants to see me again she'll have to relive some of her worst childhood nightmares; and all that for a man who's ended up far more broken than she ever was."

Finally, Price rolled over. He still couldn't bring himself to look at the man who sat next to him wearing the drab green guard's uniform, but now he lay on his back, staring unseeingly at the ceiling as tears flowed over his face. Paul noticed that the guard was at the door with Price's breakfast tray and went over to accept it through the slot himself, giving the unhappy man a moment with his thoughts of Sara. If she heard about what had happened, how would she react? If, after all the years of worry that she might have a 'murder gene' and become a killer herself, she suddenly found that the man who'd wanted to marry her might have just such a flaw himself, what would she do? Would she feel obliged, forced, to come and see him? Images of holding her in his arms as they lay in bed together came into his mind. Memories of comforting her as she recovered from her own nightmares, originally sparked by well meaning social workers insisting that Sara should visit her mother, first in prison and then, later, at a secure mental hospital. How could their relationship survive if his circumstances forced her to revisit those memories? And it might not just be the prison visits that she'd have to relive, who knew where he might end up eventually, with the tricks his mind had played on him since he'd been arrested? Would she put herself through all that and still come, maybe not realising that it was not just her who would suffer as a result, caught up in her own difficulties and not comprehending the danger it could put him in?

It was thoughts like these that had fed his second nightmare.

_He was in the prison's visiting room. As usual he was seated in front of the security screen, his ankles chained to the floor, but, when the visitors were let in to their half of the room, it wasn't David Hodges who sat down opposite him, but Sara._

_She'd looked ashen. "My therapist warned me not to come, Gilbert, but I had to, I couldn't stay away when I found out that you needed me." There had been a hissing, roaring sound in his ears as he'd listened to Sara talk about how she was going to help him get out, how she'd solve the case single handed if she had to. That she'd signed up to study law so that she could appeal on his behalf, and that, if necessary, she was sure she could find a way to help him escape from the prison. She'd do everything for him that hadn't been done for her mother. Her behaviour had become more and more obsessive and erratic and he'd kept trying to interrupt, to tell her she didn't have to do it all herself, that he already had people trying to help him and that she should concentrate on he own well being instead, but, just as had happened at the mansion crime scene, all he could do was keep repeating himself._

"_No, Sara. Sara, no. Stop, Sara, please. No."_

_Sara had just kept talking. Their voices got louder as they competed to be heard, until Grissom had realised she was yelling his name at him to try and stop his chant._

_And then he'd understood._

_The hissing noise had been caused by the prisoners in the room with him repeating Sara's name over and over. She'd been recognised and the rumour had passed along the line. Now the repetitive sound was changing, becoming the one which had haunted him since he'd first been arrested. They'd heard Sara yelling his name and now they were echoing it. "Grissom, Grissom, Grissom, Grissom."_

_There were footsteps behind him now as prisoners started to pile into his cubicle. He couldn't escape them and the prison guards were doing nothing. As the first blow had struck he'd seen the horror on Sara's face as, her hands pressed against the partition between them, she watched him disappear under a multitude of assailants._

It hadn't helped that he'd woken to find he really was pinned down, although by several prison officers rather than his fellow prisoners. One of them was shaking him hard by the shoulders and calling "Price" over and over again. He hadn't slept again that night.

Paul offered the tray he was holding to Grissom, but received only a shake of the head in response. He placed it on the shelf for the time being and resumed his position on the stool, leaning forward to show that he was ready to listen.

Price was attempting to calm himself, his eyes were closed and his right hand rested over them, his thumb pressing on the outer corner of one eye, his middle finger pressing on the other in the same place. His lips were compressed tightly together as he tried to bring his emotions under control.

"What are you thinking, James?"

Price slowly drew his hand over his face until it was covering his mouth. Paul considered it a tell-tale that Price was struggling with the answer to that question.

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking..." There was a sob and, once again, Price turned onto his side facing the wall.

"James?"

"I wish I could tell you what I'm thinking. I wish I could tell you more about the dreams I had. You've helped me so much recently; I wish I could let you in just that little bit more. But I can't Paul, and I need you to stop asking me to."

"I'm only trying to help you, James."

"I know and the people who know the real me would be astounded by how much I've talked to you already. And yet you don't really know a thing about me, except why I'm here and that I'm just so, so miserable."

"And what should I know?" Paul asked, fishing a little.

"Nothing, you shouldn't know anything, you can't know anything. It wouldn't be safe for me or fair for you."

There was a sudden silence. Paul watched the back of Price's head as it suddenly jerked up from its tilted position as if its owner had suddenly realised something.

"No, no, no. I shouldn't have said that, now you're going to be wondering, you'll try and work it out. I've ruined it, I've ruined it."

"What have you ruined, James?" Paul kept his voice soft and gentle, but he was checking the distance between himself and the cell alarm and quietly unfastening the belt pouch which held his handcuffs, just in case Price made a sudden jump from distraught to violent. For the quiet, mild mannered, _gentle_man that he had found James Price to be to have committed murder there must have been some flashpoint and if it had happened once...

"The pretence. I've ruined the pretence." The voice had become logical, stoic, calm, but Paul could see from the prisoner's posture that the man was hugging himself tightly.

Grissom's eyes were tightly shut too as he reached for the analytical side of himself in an attempt to control his emotions. He continued, "for this to work, for you to help me, we have to pretend that we could really be friends when, of course, we can't. There is so much I can't allow myself to tell you and you have to hold back too."

"What do I have to hold back, James, can't I want to help you? Do you think I chose my job because I like to watch people suffer?"

"No, I don't believe that, although I may have my suspicions regarding some of your colleagues." It was almost a joke, and Paul relaxed just a little, Price's attempts to analyse the situation seemed to be having a calming effect. "The problem that you have is that you can't afford to allow for the possibility that I might be innocent and that's OK. I understand that. In certain careers, it is necessary to create a rationale which makes it possible to do the job. In your case you can't afford to make your own judgements over innocence or guilt. I don't know precisely how you manage to do that, I can only assume that you have to trust the system and believe that to get here there must be at least some guilt. You can't affect whether any one man is here or not, so you have to ignore the issue and concentrate on what you can do." _Just like in my career you have to assume that _anyone_ has the potential to perform a criminal act. Just like my colleagues couldn't help but consider that I might just be guilty when I was put in the frame for Laura McCain's murder._ "You spent over twenty minutes sitting in a transport van with me while I repeatedly insisted that I'm not a murderer, and yet you didn't once try and calm me by pretending that you believed me." Grissom could hear the guard shifting uncomfortably at the revelation that that had been noticed. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate that you didn't lie to me. But it did show me where the line is drawn."

Price rolled on his back again and ran his hands over his head as though there was enough hair there to comb his fingers through.

"I'm sorry, Paul. I seem determined to sabotage myself. I appreciate your help. In fact I _need_ it, desperately sometimes." He sighed and closed his eyes briefly before continuing. "I'm telling myself I shouldn't trust you, but I have to, without you I just can't cope."

"But you are coping. I know it probably doesn't feel like it after last night, but you're doing pretty well on the new medication already, and today is your last day on the Diazepam, so you should feel a lot less drowsy once that finally leaves your system. You'll probably wake up faster from any nightmares too. I'm keeping a close eye on you and I'm not going to let things get as bad again as they were when we first met. That's a promise.

As for your guilt or innocence, I guess my coping mechanism is not to consider it at all, beyond taking sensible precautions, I doubt you'd have any respect for my intelligence if I didn't, and I suspect that, in your case, if you couldn't respect my intelligence you couldn't respect me at all, and respect is something important to you isn't it?"

There was a wry smile and a slight nod from Price. Paul handed him the box of tissues he'd noticed on the shelf behind him. Most prisoners just used the toilet tissue provided by the prison in these circumstances and saved their canteen money for other things, but it appeared that Price had decided that he cried often enough to make this little luxury worth investing in.

"Take it from me, a lot of your reactions are perfectly normal for someone like you coming to prison for the first time and with a long sentence to serve. All your depression does is make them harder to deal with. Everything must feel like a desperate uphill struggle for you right now but the antidepressants are already starting to help just a little, I can see it, even if you can't just yet. It's obvious to me that you don't come from a background that has brought you into contact with crime on a regular basis." Grissom blew his nose to hide the smile that crept up on him when he heard that, despite the way he felt right then. "This whole environment must feel pretty alien to you, but, while it will never be fun, becoming accustomed to the routine will help you cope better and, maybe once you're a little better you'll be allowed some brief association time with a small group of other segregated prisoners."

Price shuddered at that thought, and Paul added a hasty "or maybe not."

"Look James, truthfully, and setting aside my opinions on whether or not you should be here, I like you. You're smart, polite and you treat me like a human being. I'm getting far more out of helping you than I have from most of the inmates I've had to deal with. I hope that persuades you that there's more to this than just a 'pretence'. Now, try and eat some of this food," he said finally, lifting the tray to rest on Grissom's knees as he moved to sit up in bed. "I'll bring your meds when you've finished, then you can try and take a nap. You're scheduled to go for exercise and then a shower at eleven, so I'll wake you when I come by and check on you at a quarter to."

"What if I dream again?"

"Well, if last night's log is anything to go by, I'll be able to see quite easily if you're having problems when I look in on you, in which case I'll wake you but, hopefully, this chat will have made it easier for you to rest now."

Standing, Paul hit the cell call button for one of his colleagues to come and let him out, while Grissom wearily eyed a piece of cold toast.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Willows' Residence."

"Oh, err, hi, Linds."

"Sara, wow! How are you? Where are you? Where have you been?"

"I'm fine, Lindsay, but I was kind of hoping to avoid answering a lot of questions."

"Oh, well, yeah, I totally get that, I know just how you feel, but hey, you called my Mom's number, so what were you expecting? Mom's out by the way, some court appearance or other. I can take your number if you like, but if she's gonna call you back you'd better be ready for those questions."

"I know. Look, maybe you can help me instead. I haven't been able to get in touch with your Uncle Gil for quite a few weeks now and I'm starting to worry a little. Do you know if anything's wrong?"

"Well, Mom was real worried about him straight after you left, kept dragging him over here after shift and feeding him breakfast. I had to sit her down and remind her that Uncle Gil's been taking care of himself for years and that he might actually appreciate a little space. 'Cause he's always been kind of big on the personal space thing, you know?"

"Yeah, I know, but I'm thinking of more recently. Have you seen him in the last few weeks at all?"

"Can't say I have, but, hey, that's not unusual, some people in Vegas still keep regular daylight hours you know, and I'm actually one of them. I shouldn't worry though, if Mom were really worried about him she'd have unloaded to me sooner or later and all I'm getting is the usual stuff about too much paper work. That's normally Uncle Gil's fault, so I'd guess he's still around, avoiding the admin as usual. Does that help? Or do you want me to give Mom your number when she gets in?"

"No, maybe not, like you say everything's probably OK. If you tell your Mom I called we'll both end up facing the Inquisition, she'll want to know everything I said and how I sounded when I said it, and then, if I give you my number, she'll start on me. Just promise me that, if you do see Gil any time, you'll ask him to pick up next time a call comes through from me. OK?"

"It's a deal. You take care of yourself now."

"You too, Lindsay, and thanks."

**A/N 3 **Wow, that was tiring. I'm definitely ready for my 'sabbatical' now. Next chapter in a couple of weeks, but I will still be reading any comments I get, so do keep them coming, they really cheer me up!


	20. Haggling Over Price

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**A/N 1** This is a short one, but I thought I'd get it up now to make up for my recent 'absence'.

**Chapter 20**

**Haggling Over Price**

Grissom was finding it hard to breathe. Things had been going pretty well for the past couple of weeks, it appeared that he was fortunate and Sertraline, the first antidepressant that he had been given, had suited him. The prison psychologist had chosen that particular type because it was known to help with anxiety related disorders too, and even he had now started to notice the difference in his mood and ability to cope.

The problem was that, as he got better, he was able to see less and less of Paul. The prison officer had now resumed most of his duties at his original post over on the psych wing. He still came down to help out whenever Gil had to leave his cell and continued to join him in the exercise yard, helping to distract him from the nerves which continued to strike him while he was outdoors. He also visited Gil in his cell for an hour twice a day, but the rest of the time Grissom was expected to endure his problems alone.

This morning, however, he had not been able to cope. It was the day of his appeal hearing and he had woken up with the sensation of having ice cold lumps of something heavy in both his stomach and his throat. He'd felt so nauseous that even the act of cleaning his teeth had caused him to retch several times. Having the process involved in using the video link between the prison and the court explained to him so he'd know what to expect later had only increased his level of anticipation and feeling of dread.

He'd repeatedly asked for Paul, but had only been told that he would be down 'later'. Grissom had tried to calm himself, but found that he was pacing rapidly around his cell. With such a short route to follow he'd become quite dizzy, but when he stopped he'd just started shivering, the chill in his throat and stomach spreading to permeate the rest of his body.

When his cell door had finally opened to reveal Paul, Gil had been so pleased to see him that he'd left his position at the back of the cell and hurried forward with his hands outstretched, so ridiculously pleased to see the man that he wanted to make some kind of physical contact, although he was not sure if he was going to shake Paul's hand or hug him. He'd never got to find out, because moments later he'd found himself struggling to breathe.

It wasn't anxiety that was causing the problem, it was the fact that he was lying half on, half off his bunk with his face buried into the mattress. He couldn't move, due to the knee that was jammed into his lower back and the hand which was holding his right arm cruelly twisted up behind him, so that his hand was resting between his shoulder blades. Whoever it was that was holding him had him completely under their control.

He tried to go limp, to show he wasn't a threat and hope that soon he'd be released or at least allowed to turn his head to the side so he could take some proper breaths. He could hear voices and they sounded a little as though those involved might be arguing with each other, but the roaring in his ears made it sound as though the noise came from another room and he could not make out the words.

Now a second person was touching him and he recognised what had, in the three months since his arrest, become the familiar sensation of a handcuff being fitted around his left wrist. Next his right arm was allowed to move into a slightly more comfortable position and the cuffs were attached to that wrist too. The knee remained on his back and the hand that had previously held his wrist now gripped the back of his neck firmly, so that he couldn't raise his head, although, thankfully, he had been turned so he was now looking towards the head of the bed. Greedily he sucked in air while whoever had handcuffed him turned their attention to manacling his ankles.

Now that he was chained hand and foot his captor finally released his grip. Gingerly Grissom lifted his torso from the bed and settled into a kneeling position facing the bed. Then he stopped and waited. If they wanted him on his feet they were going to have to help him, he couldn't do it himself without the use of his arms.

"Well that was a stupid thing to do, wasn't it, Price?"

"W-w-wh... whu-whu." Grissom stopped, it was pointless to try and go on until he took time to calm himself. He could probably get some sort of sentence out eventually, but it was clear that this particular guard wouldn't have the patience to wait for him to do so. He let his head drop, mostly in despair, but also to indicate remorse for whatever he was supposed to have done wrong.

"OK, Mr. Anderson, I'm going to see what's happening with the rest of his escort. Don't let him persuade you to let him loose, I know you've got a soft spot for him, but he just tried to assault you. Besides, once we've got the numbers together, we'll be taking him straight to the video link room. I'll report the incident while I'm at it."

The guard left, closing the cell door behind him. Grissom continued to study the floor. After a couple of moments there was a footstep behind him and Paul walked around to sit on the bunk in front of him. Gil raised his head slowly. Did Paul believe that he had meant to harm him?

"P-p-p-Paul? I-I-I-I..." he stopped, trying to focus himself. "I di-di-didn't didn't didn't m-m-m mean to hu-hu-hu..." the word 'harm' turned into something sounding like an impression of a steam train before Grissom managed to cut it off, turning the last repetition into a sob. He dropped his gaze back to the floor.

Paul placed his hands on Grissom' shoulders.

"James, look at me. Look at me, please? OK, now listen. I can't stop Mr. Craig making his report and I'm sorry about the cuffs but he wasn't about to let you up until I had them on you and I could tell you were having a hard time breathing. I really don't believe you intended any harm and you simply forgot the rules for a moment. I'll be telling that to whichever assistant warden is assigned to look into what happened as well.

"Now, I think the best thing we can do while we wait for your escort is to try and get you calmed down. You'll probably feel better in yourself if we do and I'm sure that it will help your stammering a lot too."

Since his medication had begun to have an effect, Grissom had found that it took less effort to talk most of the time but, on those occasions when he felt particularly anxious or upset, he was stuttering more and more. The situation wasn't completely unfamiliar; he'd had a stammer for about a year after his father's death.

It had been a difficult time for him and, when the school had contacted his mother regarding his speech difficulties his mother had pointed that out. She'd also reminded them that as he was nine years old it was hardly a developmental issue and suggested they leave him be. At first the school had been reluctant, thinking that Mrs. Grissom was neglecting her son's needs because her own communication with him did not require him to vocalize. With the aid of an interpreter she'd rebutted the argument, pointing out that she often lip read her son and the stammer hardly made that easy and also that, if she were as selfish as the school appeared to believe, then surely she'd want her son to be able to speak clearly so that he could translate on her behalf. In the end the school had agreed not to force the young Gil to go to a speech therapist.

In some ways that time had forged the man Gil Grissom was to become. The failure to get an answer to why his father died had sparked his lifelong urge to give others the answer to the same question, but the stammer had had an effect too. He no longer spent much of his free time with his peers, other than the few special friends who were prepared to be patient with him, which led him to find companionship in books. His reluctance to raise his hand to ask questions in class did not counteract his need to know, so many of the books he read were text books as he sought to find out the answers for himself. In a year when it would have been expected and acceptable for his grades to have slipped he ended the first semester with a 'B' average instead of his usual 'C'. By the end of the second he had straight 'A's and was top of his year. In fact he was allowed to skip the next grade and the confidence he gained from that offer, together with having worked through the initial stages of his grief and the desire to be helpful to his mother, meant that, by the time he went back to school in the Fall, his stammer had disappeared completely. Fortunately it hadn't taken the A grades with it, and until now, over forty years on, Grissom had never expected to be affected by it again.

"Would you like me to help you up?"

Grissom nodded in reply and even produced a watery smile. Paul helped him to stand and then got him settled on the single stool, which was more comfortable than the bed would be while his hands were held behind him. The guard then located Grissom's glasses from where they had fallen when Craig had tackled him and carefully slid them back onto the prisoner's nose. Feeling how clammy Gil's face was, Paul then headed to the sink to soak a wash cloth in warm water, just as he had the first time the two of them had met.

"W-w-water?"

"OK, I'll get you some, just try and remember to breathe as normally as you can. Close your eyes for a bit if it helps."

Grissom tried to relax. Shutting his eyes he counted to himself to help regulate his breathing and tried to ignore the strain on his shoulders. His attorney, John Morgan, had stressed how important it was to show the judge that Grissom's mental state was now improving and his first words over the video link to the court could make or break that appearance. Those initial words could do so much other damage too. He hadn't thought too much about the process of giving evidence by video link before it was explained to him that morning. He'd never been involved in a trial where the prisoner had been allowed to 'attend' in that manner before, so rarely did the courts permit it, and had simply assumed it would be safer for him because he wouldn't require an escort to accompany him to the courthouse and so there would be no-one to report back to the prison with his real identity. Then he'd been told that the guard who doubled as a videographer was required to be present throughout his testimony by the Nevada statutes.

He'd be required to verbally confirm his identity for the court, and answering with "G-G-Gilbert Ger-Ger-Grissom." might not just cost him his freedom, it might cost him his life.

**A/N 2** Well, there it is, I'm back! Please feel free to comment, you know how I love to hear from you all.

**A/N 3** Those of you who would prefer to have more GSR than the purely implied stuff that is all that's happening in this story might like to try Prowriter11's "Nightmare in Paradise". The story has a similar theme but with lots of Sara and GSR included. In fact I recommend it even if you don't mind the lack of Ms Sidle in this piece, it's a very good read and it's now complete, so you won't end up waiting around for the next posting like some writers make you do. ;-)


	21. Subsidized Price

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 21**

**Subsidized Price**

John Morgan was concerned, in fact he was more than concerned. Not that he showed it, of course, you didn't get to be one of Las Vegas' most prominent lawyers without having a good poker face.

When he'd decided to go ahead and request a date for Gil Grissom's appeal to be heard it had been the result of a great deal of careful consideration. The timing had to be perfect. It couldn't be left too long, Grissom's intent to appeal had not been registered until well after the official deadline, and while it was still allowed to go ahead, the judge was not obliged to hear the case. One of Morgan's main arguments that the appeal should still be allowed was the Grissom had been too ill to make the application earlier, but for that to work he would have to show that Grissom had acted as soon as he was able, if the judge perceived that further, unnecessary, delay had occurred it might lose them the case. They could not afford to leave it too long.

However there were risks to going too early as well. If Grissom was deemed still to be mentally unfit then all hearings regarding his appeal and any trial which might be ordered as a result would be put on hold leaving Morgan's client in limbo, incarcerated and, quite possibly, in a secure mental facility, until such time as he was declared well enough to go ahead, and Grissom's condition was one that would probably get worse rather than better under those circumstances.

After getting reports from both the prison psychologist who was overseeing Grissom's treatment and an independent psychiatrist who had had two private meetings with Gil to assess his state of mind, Morgan had decided that now was good a time as any to go ahead. His client seemed to be responding well to his new medication and had been successfully weaned off the old one. Morgan had detected more of the Dr. Grissom he had encountered in the past during their recent meetings, especially when discussing the possibilities raised by some of the evidence Gil's former colleagues were gathering.

All in all he'd been cautiously optimistic that his client would give a good showing in court. Morgan had anticipated that the hearing might raise Grissom's anxiety levels, but had hoped that Grissom's familiarity with the courtroom process would give him an advantage that might counteract at least some of his nerves.

What he hadn't expected when he entered the small anteroom to the court where he would be able to communicate with his client before he entered the main courtroom, was to find his client, face white as a sheet, staring out of the television screen. Behind the tinted glasses his eyes were full of fear, like those of a startled rabbit.

"James?" Morgan asked, aware that his client might not be alone. "James, can you hear me?"

He watched as his client licked his lips and nodded nervously, his gaze, still wide and frightened was now directed a little below the camera line, presumably he was focusing on Morgan's image on the corresponding screen in the prison room where he was located.

"Are you OK, James?"

Grissom was shaking his head, a movement which merged into a shiver that Morgan could see passing down the prisoner's neck and into his spine.

Just when Morgan thought that Grissom wasn't going to speak at all, the figure on the screen opened his mouth. "I c-c-ca c-c-can't d-du do this."

The attorney's heart sank. If they tried to postpone the hearing at this short notice the judge would probably just throw the case out of court permanently. A lot of consideration had been shown and trouble gone to in order to allow Grissom to use the video link to appear and if he failed to do so in spite of all that he would be seen as having wasted the court's time and, even if Morgan persuaded Grissom to go through with it, that stutter could ruin his intended strategy of stressing Grissom's illustrious career and service to the cause of justice.

"James, we need to do this today. We have one hour before the court goes into session. If you can tell me about any specific problems you have I'll do my best to deal with them, but we can't just let this drop."

"I c-can't s-s-say."

"Is that because you're not alone? There should be a handset in front of you, you can talk to me quietly and my part of the conversation will only go to the earpiece, not through the main speaker, all you have to do is pick it up."

For some reason it wasn't enough, Grissom just shook his head sadly and stared blankly at the camera once more. _He looks like he's about to face a firing squad_ Morgan thought. Then he realised what had prompted that idea. Although the image on the screen was limited to a head and shoulders view, there was something about the way Grissom was holding his arms.

"James, are your hands cuffed behind you?"

"Y-yes, and t-to," there was a pause. Grissom appeared to be working out how to position his mouth for his next words, "the chu-chu-chair b-back."

Morgan kept his temper in check, his client was being treated appallingly in his view, but he didn't have time to get angry, he needed to get things sorted out, and quickly.

"OK, James, is there a reason for that? Can you tell me?"

Grissom was obviously trying, but was unable to utter anything coherent, his stammer worsening as he became more and more frustrated by it.

Morgan shook his head and held his palm up to the camera in a signal that Gil should stop trying, then, raising his voice, he called out for the guard who was in the room with Grissom to come to the microphone.

There were footsteps, a moment's pause, and then the camera view changed to a wider image, revealing the prison guard standing behind Grissom's chair. The name patch on his uniform shirt read 'Hunter'.

"Well, Mr. Hunter, as my client is currently too upset to speak properly, perhaps you'd be kind enough to explain to me why he is so severely restrained?"

Hunter shrugged as if he didn't really care. "He was reported this morning for a class 'A' code violation. As it's a violent offence regulations say he's to be kept under heavy restraint whenever he leaves his cell, at least until he's been through the disciplinary process and it's decided what else to do with him."

Although he was listening to what the guard was saying, most of Morgan's attention was on Grissom's face. Skilled at reading the reactions of witnesses and juries he was able to learn a lot.

For one thing it was clear that, while Grissom had seemed to know why he was restrained, he had not been aware of most of what the guard was saying. His head slowly moved from side to side, in disbelief at what he was hearing and denial of the accusation. Then his head ducked briefly and he turned it as far away from the camera as he could for a moment or two. When Gil looked back two tears were slowly dribbling down his cheeks, he had had no way to halt their progress. Morgan could see that his client was fully aware of the possible repercussions from this turn of events.

"Precisely what has he been accused of?" Hunter shrugged again in response, he was clearly one of those people who did the minimum required for their job and lacked any interest in asking questions about what didn't directly affect them.

"Not a clue, don't wanna know either, but I'm not letting him move while it's just me and him in here."

"Then I suggest you leave."

"Yeah, like I'm gonna do that. Can't leave an immobilized prisoner unattended, ya know. Besides, hot shot lawyer like you should know that Nevada law requires a licensed videographer be present in the room when closed circuit TV's being used, and as I'm the only guard on duty right now who's done the training and got the licence, I guess I get to play gooseberry."

Morgan had noticed Grissom perk up slightly at the suggestion he might be left alone and then drop back down into despair the guard's response. Maybe it wasn't just that he couldn't explain his problem with the guard present, maybe his problem _was_ the guard's presence.

"Mr. Hunter, Nevada State law also enshrines my client's right to confidential legal advice. Either leave the room or think of some other way to facilitate that or I will be lodging my complaint with the judge. I'm going to speak to my assistant for a moment, I expect you to have come up with something by the time I return." brusquely he walked away from the camera and out of the room.

Outside in the corridor he beckoned over his legal assistant, a competent looking young man, and then started to issue instructions.

"Get onto the online legal library; I want to see any and all of the statutes that refer to the use of AV equipment in criminal court cases. Get anything similar from the Department of Corrections administrative regulations too. I also need you to call the prison where my client is being held and tell them I'll want a direct telephone conversation with the Warden or one of the Associate Wardens in half an hour's time, make sure they know that it is regarding James Price, that it can't be dealt with by anyone of a lower grade and that it's time critical. If they can't or won't give me that then start calling in favours and get the home or cell numbers of any off duty prison staff of that rank. Oh and inform the clerk of the court that, while I'm making every effort to avoid it I may need to put last minute motion before the judge and it's regarding the rules for closed court proceedings, so I'll need to do it before the official proceedings can commence. If you get through all that I need an outline of prisoner disciplinary procedures and a list of what they consider to be 'Class "A" code violations'."

The assistant didn't bother with the niceties and immediately headed off to find a quiet space where he could set up his lap top and start making the calls."

Morgan allowed his frustration to show for a moment as he ran his hands through his hair. Deciding that he had given Hunter enough time to decide on a course of action and not wanting to leave it long enough for his client to think he'd been abandoned, he took a breath to compose himself and re-entered the ante-room.

The video screen still showed the wide view with Hunter continuing to stand behind Grissom. It must have been intimidating for the man in the chair to be aware of the presence behind him but to be unable to move even enough to turn his head around and actually see who was standing there.

"So, may I speak to my client in confidence?"

Hunter did not reply aloud. With a facetious smile he stepped forward and picked the handset up from the tale with a supercilious flourish, then held it in position beside Grissom's head. Next he made a great show of stepping back so that he was holding the receiver at arm's length. In his other hand he was holding some kind of remote and, after a final grin, he pointed it towards the camera and the screen turned back to the head and shoulders close-up of Gil.

"This seems to be the best we're going to get for now, Grissom." Morgan kept his voice low to prevent it being overheard, but felt safe enough to use his client's real name. He needed to use every possible method at his disposal to try and rebuild some of Gil's confidence, in the hope it would reduce the stammering to more tolerable levels.

"Don't attempt to talk too much right now, I'll try and frame my questions so that you can answer me with a nod or shake of your head."

He waited for Grissom to show his agreement before continuing. "You've been cross-examined by me in court numerous times, you know how I work. Have you ever had reason to think that I'm not good at my job, or that I ever put less than a hundred percent into what I do?" He watched his client indicate a negative, his eyes serious. "Good, because I need you to trust me, to believe that I am doing everything I can to sort this out. I also need you to hold onto the fact that today's hearing is not about your innocence or guilt, but simply about whether the events leading up to your accepting the deal offered by the DA's office affected your ability to make a reasonable, well considered decision and the probability that a severe miscarriage of justice happened as a result. There will be no jury, and I don't even intend to call you as a witness. The judge may have a few questions for you, and there'll be a few formalities, like we discussed on my last visit, but that should be it for you other than to just sit and listen."

Morgan sat back a little, trying to exude an air of confidence and reassurance. Slowing his speech down a little and lowering the pitch of his voice slightly he began again.

"For the next hour I'm going to be doing my best to ensure that, by the time the judge sees you you will be able to speak freely and that this morning's events have as little effect as possible, including getting you out of those restraints, but it is going to take me most of that time so, in return, I need you to work on something else."

The face on the screen looked puzzled but nodded. "OK, what I want you to do is relax. Close your eyes, take some steadying breaths, and go through whatever relaxation techniques you know. Tell yourself that this is just another court appearance and you're here as an expert witness as usual. It's true you know, it's just that you're here as an expert on Gilbert Grissom, not bugs or forensics or anything else. It's almost certain that this judge will have encountered you before and that's to our advantage. I need you to appear and behave as much like Doctor Grissom the expert criminalist as possible.

"I need to go now, I'll try to speak to you again just before the hearing starts to let you know what I've achieved. OK?"

Grissom nodded again, hope wasn't in his eyes, but a desperate need for it was. "I'll t-t-try." he promised.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The red light over the A/V room door which indicated that there was a broadcast taking place was currently off, so Paul Anderson tapped gently on the door then slipped inside. Hunter was near the door leaning against the wall. When Anderson entered he made a point of checking his watch.

"Court's gonna be in session in a couple of minutes, I'm just waiting for the signal."

Paul handed him a sheet of paper. "From the Associate Warden." he said, looking across the room. James Price was slumped awkwardly in his chair, his cuffs preventing him from slipping too far from his seat.

"Well, it's not what I expected, but I guess it's what we have to do."

Paul nodded, he'd been surprised by this course of events himself. Immediately after helping deliver Price to this room he'd gone to see the Associate Warden who would be dealing with the report from the mornings 'incident'. He'd tried to give his version of events but had been told to save it for the preliminary hearing. Next he'd tried to argue that the earliest the hearing could take place would be the day after next and that, until Price's innocence or guilt was decided it was unfair to have it affect his appeal. The Warden had given him short shrift. The inmate disciplinary procedure would not be changed for one individual; as convicted felons prisoners were _not_ entitled to be presumed innocent until proven otherwise; and, considering the category of the reported offence, the Warden was not prepared to put his guards or the other inmates at risk by relaxing the rules regarding restraint.

Then, twenty minutes later, he'd been called back to the office. Apparently the Associate Warder had been 'thinking things over'. He now felt that, because the formal charging process had not yet begun, he was prepared reduce Price's level of restraint for the duration of his court hearing. Also the Warden had 'now recalled that' the practices for CCTV court appearances used by the prison, although based on certain state laws, were not actually governed by those laws, at least not in Price's particular case. In view of Price's 'difficulties' the Warden had therefore decided that Anderson's presence in the A/V room would be more appropriate then that of the prison's videographer.

The speech about what the law said regarding video court appearances had confirmed Paul's growing suspicion that Price's attorney had become involved. Still, it didn't matter; he was just relieved that James was going to have things a little fairer. He'd taken the Warden's written orders and hurried to get to A/V before it was too late and the hearing started.

"You wanna wake him?" Hunter nodded toward Price. "He seemed to drop off about ten minutes ago."

Paul walked towards Price whose grey head was drooping right forward onto his chest. It wasn't a comfortable position to be sleeping in, and Paul was amazed that the prisoner was doing so considering his circumstances. All that he could think of was that Price had been worn out by the morning's stress.

"James? It's me; you need to wake up now." He placed his hand on the prisoner's shoulder, and it was then that the man suddenly jerked awake. There was a sharp intake of breath and a grimace of pain as his wrists suddenly pulled on the cuffs around them.

"Steady. I need you to stay calm now; it's nearly time for your hearing to begin. In fact your lawyer has already had to enter the courtroom, so I'll have to let you know what has been worked out. My colleague, Mr. Hunter and I are going release your hands, but then they'll have to be cuffed again in front of you. Just take it easy and don't do anything until we tell you to."

Clearly Price wasn't going to risk getting into more trouble and he obeyed implicitly. Paul stayed in front of James doing all the talking whilst Hunter handled the cuffs. The creases surrounding Price's eyes were even deeper than normal and he looked tired and beaten down.

"OK, James," Paul continued after Price was more comfortably secured, "once the court signals that they're ready for the link Mr. Hunter will operate the equipment to get it set up, but then he'll leave the room." Price's expression brightened slightly, it seemed he liked what he was hearing. "I'm afraid that you can't be left alone in here though, so I'll be remaining with you, just sitting by the door in case you need anything and to vouch that nothing untoward happened during the broadcast. OK?"

Price nodded, but it was tentative and he still seemed worried about something.

"James?"

Price's hands moved as though he wanted to touch Paul, but he was careful to stop himself. His eyes scanned Paul's face as he spoke quietly to him, occasionally moving to check on Hunter's position.

"I-I'm sorry. I... stuff you're g-going to hear. F-for-forgive me?"

Anderson didn't know what Price meant. "We've discussed how I deal with this job, James. I may not make judgements on prisoner's guilt or innocence, but I believe every last one of you has the right to an appeal. Don't rob yourself of that right by worrying about how I will react to what I hear today. Do what you have to do; anything else can be dealt with later."

There was a beep and a red light came on by the monitor screen. Hunter coughed then warned them they had one minute.

"Steadying breaths, James, and keep your rate of speech slow, it should help. I'll be by the door if you need me." With that he patted Price on the shoulder and moved away.

Price was following his advice and breathing evenly. Anderson was a little surprised when James carefully removed his glasses and placed them on the table, before resting his hands on his lap where the cuffs would be hidden from view. He'd never seen Price without his glasses except first thing in the morning or immediately after a shower, so he had assumed Price couldn't see much without them. Maybe it was a trick to build his confidence, perhaps he felt he could deal with this better if the figures on screen in front of him were a little blurred.

The light changed to orange and Hunter pressed a few buttons on his remote. A split screen image of different views of the court appeared allowing Price to see the judge and his own attorney at all times, while the main part of the screen would show anyone who was speaking at the time. A final flick of the remote and the camera went on. The light beside the screen went green and sound began to issue from the speakers. There was a brief click from the door as it closed behind Hunter's departing figure.

John Morgan had just introduced himself as 'counsel for the appellant' and Anderson listened as 'the appellant' was asked to identify himself to the court.

"I'm Gilbert Grissom, d-date of birth, Au-August sixteenth nineteen... fifty-six."

It appeared that Anderson's advice to slow down had helped reduce the stammer considerably, but that wasn't what had Paul's attention.

"Doctor Grissom, we are here today..."

_Gilbert Grissom? _Doctor _Gilbert Grissom?_ Paul's mind was reeling. He'd known that the prisoner was reluctant to talk about himself, but he'd had no idea that 'James Price' was a false name. Who had he been spending his time with? What had this man done that meant his identity had to be hidden so deeply? A serial killer who'd got a deal in exchange for revealing the locations of his victims? Maybe that explained those trips to crime scenes and the visits he received from detectives and criminalists. Was this why Price, no, not Price, was this why _Grissom_ was so certain that Paul would no longer be willing to help him when today was over?

Paul stopped himself. If that theory was true then why on Earth would 'Doctor Grissom' ask for an appeal? He had to stop speculating and listen. Maybe all would be revealed.

**A/N** Just a reminder that I live in the UK and have no real knowledge of either UK or US law or prison regulations other than what I research on the internet. Therefore, while I've tried for some accuracy, nothing written here should be assumed to be completely correct. Just like on the show itself I have occasionally made adjustments or downright invented stuff for dramatic effect, although I have kept that to a minimum. The loophole that allows Paul to take over from Hunter in the AV room comes from when I tried to research the procedures used when someone makes a court appearance by video link. I could only find two references in the Nevada Revised Statutes, neither of which seemed to apply. I took the stuff about the videographer from them, but there was nothing about A/V links being used in prisons and nothing in the Nevada Department of Correction's administrative regulations either, so I felt free to play. I hope it worked.

Reviews and comments are welcome as always.


	22. Price Rises

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 22**

**Price Rises**

Grissom wedged the handset between his neck and shoulder and rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He'd wanted to do that all morning but had studiously kept his hands on his lap, not wanting to advertise that he was still handcuffed.

"You did OK, Grissom." John Morgan appeared to look at him from the video screen in front of him. "Things are going fine. I was pleased to see you'd removed your glasses, it was a good idea."

"It was all I c-could think of to make me look more like my old self. I used to wear my glasses while t-testifying but they weren't like these at all, and I always entered the c-court and swore the oath before p-putting them on." Grissom smiled tiredly and reached to replace the grey-tinted lenses on his nose. Paul had radioed for an escort to take him back to his cell while the court was adjourned for lunch and he didn't want to be caught without them.

"Well, it seemed to work. Glad to hear your stammer is much reduced too, you had me worried this morning.

"M-Me too. I guess trying to c-concentrate on the proceedings h-helped."

"And what about the change to your restraints and having a more familiar guard? I'm sorry I wasn't able to talk to you about that before it happened."

Grissom shrugged to show the apology was unnecessary. "Well obviously this is b-better than things w-were, even if I'm still not g-going anywhere until they come and g-get me." Gil smiled ruefully at Morgan, he was still anchored to the floor by his leg shackles, but that was pretty usual. "As for the c-company," he looked around briefly to check that Paul was still by the door chatting to Hunter the A/V guy, then lowered his voice still further, aware that the handset only rendered Morgan's side of the conversation inaudible. He just had to trust that only a third of the room's current occupants had lip-reading skills. "I'll be ha-happier when I know how he's t-taken it, but if I'd had to p-pick someone to t-trust with this then he w-would have been the w-one. I j-just hope he still f-feels he can h-help me after the-this."

Noticing that his client's stammer was getting steadily worse as they pursued this topic, Morgan decided it was time to wind things up so that Gil could return to his cell and try and relax before the afternoon session began. Unfortunately he had to broach one more difficult subject before he could stop.

"Grissom, about what happened earlier this morning..."

"I w-was upset b-but I d-didn't do anything, I d-didn't even in-in-intend to d-do anything. The other g-guard s-s-said I t-tried to a-a-a..."

"Grissom, stop, please." Morgan's voice was sharp, cutting through Gil's abortive attempt to explain. "I'm certain that you haven't done anything that comes anywhere near any of the offences on the class A list, but we have to deal with the fact that you seem to have ended up accused of one. Right now I want you to put it out of your mind as much as you possibly can, you can't let it affect your performance in court. Fortunately I think the judge has asked you most of the questions she's likely to for the time being, and there will be someone in the witness box this afternoon, so her attention will be on them. As far as the charge is concerned, the Associate Warden I spoke to has agreed that nothing should go on your record until there has been a preliminary hearing and there has to be at least twenty-four hours between them serving you with a Notice of Charges and any such hearing taking place, so even if you get the notice in the next five minutes nothing else can happen until tomorrow afternoon. I'm confident that we'll be finished in court by then." _Because if I can't persuade the judge to allow his plea to be withdrawn quickly I won't be able to persuade her at all._

"If you do get the notice during the lunch recess, read it once, sign it, then put your copy face down somewhere and don't look at again. I'd tell you not to read it at all, but I'd be a poor lawyer if I ever advised a client to sign something without reading it first." He stopped to smile at Grissom, but it seemed it wasn't the right moment to try for humour; it hadn't been much of a joke anyway.

"I'll talk to you further about this after court adjourns for today, but leave it on the back burner for now. Right! We have a longish break, so make sure you eat some lunch and get some rest. I know it's not easy but try and stay as relaxed as you can and remember: This morning went well."

The last four words were said with emphasis and Grissom nodded to Morgan before replacing the handset in its cradle. Seeing that he was done, Hunter came forward and started doing something to the equipment. Paul stuck his head out of the door and called another three guards inside, Grissom's escort. Gil soon found out that the leniency regarding his fetters only applied while he was inside the video room. His hands were quickly shifted to be cuffed behind his back again before the chain linking his ankles was unlocked from the hasp set into the floor. He was then escorted from the room and back to the segregation wing as fast as his chains would allow.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Lunch had been served almost as soon as Grissom got back to his cell. It was the usual nondescript sandwich and unidentifiable soup but, for once, he hadn't cared, his nervous stomach probably couldn't have dealt with anything less bland just now. He had just over an hour before he would be collected to be taken back to the A/V room and so Grissom had assumed his favourite position, lying on his bunk, curled up on his right side, facing the wall. It had started off as a privacy thing, the one position he could comfortably occupy where the prison guards who checked on him through the cell's observation window could not see his face, but there was an element of self comfort there for him too. At least he could curl up properly again, his ribs had taken their time healing but now he only got an occasional twinge of pain, more from the muscles surrounding them than the bones themselves. Idly he considered blowing his self-imposed budget when the next canteen order form came around and splashing out on a second pillow. It would be nice to have something to wrap his arms around when lying like this as well as being more comfortable when sleeping. He could also cover his head with one during a migraine without having to resort to using a folded towel to rest his head on.

Come to think of it, he hadn't had a migraine for some time now, despite the stress he was under. Perhaps the Sertraline he was taking was having an effect on those too? He certainly hoped so, he almost certainly wouldn't be allowed to take his usual meds on top of the antidepressants, he vaguely remembered reading somewhere that such a combination could even be life threatening. He'd still get the pillow, though, assuming that his canteen privileges weren't a victim of whatever disciplinary action the prison decided to take.

Grissom moaned a little and shifted nearer the wall, so that he could rest his forehead against the cool tiles. He should be trying to sleep, his involuntary nap just before his hearing started had shown just how exhausted he had become. He certainly shouldn't be contemplating his punishment for another act he hadn't committed. He hadn't even received official notice that he was being charged.

He probably shouldn't be thinking about buying pillows either, although he couldn't quite decide if that was a good sign or a bad one. Until very recently his depression had meant he'd cared so little about anything that he hadn't explored the possibilities of the canteen list beyond food, except to buy a belt when the prison issue jeans that had fit him when he was first incarcerated had rapidly become too loose and his request for replacement pairs had been refused. He hadn't been able to keep the belt he was wearing when he'd been arrested because the buckle contravened prison regulations. Actually being interested in anything beyond the bare necessities had to be a sign of improvement in his condition. Unfortunately there was a flip side. Was thinking about making himself more comfortable a sign that he expected to be there for a while? Did it show how little hope he had for today's hearing, which, if all went well, would eventually lead to his freedom? Still, it _was_ a case of eventually and if he did get out soon, would he really care that buying the pillow had been a waste of money?

Having sorted that out in his head, Grissom closed his eyes and willed sleep to overtake him.

Sleep wasn't cooperating. Grissom couldn't help wondering what Paul Anderson was thinking right now. He hadn't been able to speak to the guard since he'd had to announce his real name. Grissom had thought that Paul might wait and speak to him in his cell after the remainder of his escort had left but, by the time he'd stood up from kneeling on his bunk to have his various cuffs removed, Paul was already gone. Logically Grissom had told himself that Anderson probably had work stuff to catch up on during the adjournment, the change to his morning's duties having been a last minute thing, but logical answers seemed to give him far less comfort these days.

Had Paul recognised his name? As a psych specialist he probably hadn't had very many rotations of court escort duty and so may not have come across him in his work capacity. The judge today had been a brusque woman and had cut off Morgan's references to his client's work with an impatient, "I think everyone here is already fully aware of Doctor Grissom's reputation." Unfortunately that wouldn't have given the one person who might not be familiar with it any clue whether that reputation was good or bad, or even what it was for.

The rest of the morning's hearing had been effectively a pre-trial hearing, covering technicalities and simply persuading the judge that the motion to withdraw his plea should be heard at all. There had been hardly any reference at all to the crime he was supposed to have committed, nothing to help Paul figure out what might be going on.

The judge had insisted on asking him numerous questions about his mental health, first when it was given as justification for his failure to take action within the first thirty days after his conviction and again even more deeply when it was revealed that his lawyer also intended to claim it as a factor in the poor decision making that led him to agree to the plea bargain in the first place. Grissom shuddered as he remembered those questions and pulled his knees up a little higher. Intellectually he was aware that there should be no more stigma to mental illness than to the physical kind, but he still had trouble admitting that he suffered from it, maybe because he'd always believed that his mind was the one thing in his life which could always be relied on, even if his hearing, knees or some other body part might give out on him.

Eventually it became apparent that the judge was concerned that if she accepted that he was mentally ill at the time he made his plea bargain and in the months since, then she would be giving his attorney a huge advantage if they replaced the 'no contest' plea with one of 'guilty but mentally ill' at any future trial, there having been less than two weeks between the murder and Grissom's deal.

Once he realised that that could be an issue, Morgan had been quick to point out that Grissom had never once indicated that he might be guilty of Laura McCain's murder and assured the judge that, should she agree to allow his client to change his plea it would definitely be to one of 'not guilty'.

'Nolo Contendere' was a difficult plea to withdraw, by making it he had agreed to serve any sentence given by the court, even though he was not admitting any guilt. Although he could have withdrawn the plea before his sentence was announced, he was definitely not supposed to come back later and say 'now that I know what the actual sentence is, I've changed my mind, can I have a trial instead?'

Morgan's argument to the judge was that a 'manifest injustice' had occurred as a result of Grissom's plea being made, meaning the court could set aside his conviction and allow him to withdraw his plea under Nevada Revised Statute 176 point something. He'd then gone on to cite some other case where the Nevada Supreme Court had agreed to such a motion when it was shown that the man who had made the plea had been badly advised of it's consequences by his lawyer. In this case the unforeseen consequences had been related to the effects of Grissom's unusual arrangement with the Sheriff's Department. The plea bargain was quite different from any other made in the state of Nevada, and Morgan was prepared to put it under a great deal of scrutiny if necessary.

Grissom had known that this was the path Morgan had intended to take, that his poor mental health, aggravated by the intimidation he'd received whilst waiting in the PD had led him to accept poor advice from the man who had been his lawyer at the time when, in other circumstances, he might have spotted some of the flaws in the agreement.

What he hadn't expected to hear was that his former lawyer had _deliberately_ acted against his best interests. Apparently the man had now retired from practising the Law and come forward to admit what he'd done. At that point the judge had halted Morgan's explanation of events and inquired when the ex-attorney could be brought before her. It seemed Morgan had been anticipating the request and he'd said it could be arranged for that afternoon, at which point the judge had called the adjournment.

While Grissom couldn't entirely forget the disciplinary charges hanging over him later events were currently overshadowing them. He wanted to hear exactly what his former lawyer had to say. Had he really been deliberately betrayed? He also wanted to know what was going on in Paul's head, but the best he could do right now was hope that, if Paul hadn't recognised his name, he'd had more sense than to sit down in the guards' dining room and casually inquire if any of his fellow diners might know who a guy called 'Doctor Gilbert Grissom' might be, and why he was currently sitting in cell 17 of the segregation wing pretending to be Prisoner 4929, James Price.

A/N A little shorter than usual this week I know, but please forgive me and write me lots of lovely reviews anyway. !-)


	23. Price Cut

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 23**

**Price Cut**

Grissom tried to settle himself as comfortably as he could on the hard chair in the A/V room. The afternoon had had a bad start and now he needed to follow his attorney's advice and put everything out of his mind except what was happening on the screen in front of him.

Paul was stationed beside the door, just as he had been that morning, but Gil still hadn't had the chance to talk to him. Whether by accident or design Anderson hadn't arrived at his cell until another guard was already there serving him with a 'Notice of Charges'. The notice itself said he was to be charged, under the prisoner disciplinary code, of major violation MJ2 -Assault. Amongst other details it also gave the name of his Preliminary Hearing Officer. Attached to the Notice was a note from the same man confirming that the preliminary hearing would take place as soon as his court hearing was completed, or if the case was adjourned for more than a day, during the interlude. Unless a report on his conduct was specifically requested, the court would not be informed of the assault charge until any hearings relating to that charge were completed. As there had only been two witnesses besides him and both would be appearing it was deemed unnecessary to give him additional time to request his own witnesses. If he felt that was unfair he would be permitted to raise the issue at the preliminary hearing.

By the time he'd finished reading all this Grissom's head had been spinning. Following John Morgan's instructions he'd scrawled 'J. Price' across the bottom of both copies then turned his own copy and the note face down on his 'desk', noting his shaking hands as he did so.

He'd turned to look at Paul at that point hoping for some support, but the guard, Craig, who'd first accused him of assault, was also in the doorway. Beyond them were the two other members of his escort and Grissom had been relieved that they at least were neutral. There had been the usual routine with chains and handcuffs and he'd been deposited back in front of the camera once more. As Hunter, the A/V guy, had been there to set up the equipment he still hadn't had chance to speak to Paul privately.

Finally, here was some distraction. The preliminaries of the new session having been done with without Grissom needing to speak - a good thing because he had no idea what he would sound like right now- it was time for the afternoon's star witness to appear.

Michael Greene was not an imposing man, shortish, skinny and grey-haired he had none of the presence that John Morgan displayed in the courtroom. He seemed almost inconsequential, but Grissom realized he could be anything but. Was he really about to admit to having caused intentional harm to his client's case? Somehow he just didn't seem capable of that kind of action. Still, Grissom had seen even less imposing figures admit guilt to far worse crimes. He knew better than to judge by appearances.

As this was a judicial hearing the formal procedures of examination and cross examination of the witness would not necessarily take place, Greene was here so that the judge could satisfy any questions she might have for the former lawyer. However she allowed John Morgan to introduce the witness and explain his relevance to the motion.

Grissom leaned back a little, taking in the full content of the split screen display in front of him. The main part of the screen showed Michael Greene in the witness box, while smaller sections showed the judge and Morgan. Greene was obviously nervous and kept half glancing over his right shoulder at something or someone Grissom couldn't see.

"Your Honour," John Morgan began, "this morning I told you that one of the reasons that my client, Doctor Grissom, made a plea of 'nolo contendere' was due to poor advice from the man who was his lawyer at that time. That in itself should be sufficient to cast doubt upon the validity of Doctor Grissom's plea; however my investigations have revealed that, as a result of intimidation, the attorney involved, Mr. Michael Greene, _deliberately_ failed in his duty to Dr. Grissom.

"Since the events concerned, Mr. Greene's conscience has made it impossible for him to continue in his career and he has taken early retirement. In view of the severe repercussions that Dr. Grissom has suffered as a result of his actions, Mr. Greene has agreed to appear today and testify to what happened, waiving his right to avoid self-incrimination. Before I ask him to tell the court what transpired I would like to add that Mr. Greene has not only resigned from the Bar, he has also provided a deposition to the Bar Association so that those others who were a party to this heinous incident will not go un-reprimanded, although the Association has agreed that no action will be taken until it is certain that Dr. Grissom will not suffer further as a result of any investigation."

At this point the Judge spoke. "From what little I've heard so far I hope that those concerned will receive rather more than just a 'reprimand'. However, provided Mr. Greene has done everything you say he has I will leave the matter for the Association to deal with. Mr. Greene, there are already restrictions on who has access to anything that is said in this courtroom as the result of a motion put forward by Mr. Morgan for Dr. Grissom's protection, you may feel free to give the full story without fear of additional recriminations. Please start from the beginning."

Greene licked his lips nervously and glanced over his shoulder once again. Suddenly Grissom realised why he kept doing that. Greene was looking at him! The arrangement of cameras in the courtroom was confusing. When Gil had talked to John Morgan, the attorney had been in a separate room and the camera had been directly above the monitor screen, just as it was in Grissom's room at the prison. They'd been able to talk to each other as if face to face. In the courtroom three cameras were being used to give Grissom a good view of each of the participants. So, although Grissom felt like he was directly in front of Greene, his image in the courtroom was actually a little behind and to the right of his former lawyer, who clearly felt uncomfortable having the man he let down so badly staring over his shoulder.

Grissom fought back an urge to take advantage of his new realization and aim a hard glare down to his left. He felt angry that this man had taken advantage of his ill health and left him in such a terrible situation, but he needed Greene's evidence if he was going to win this first battle in the fight for his freedom, no point scaring the man more than he was already. Drawing on years of habit Grissom allowed a mask of emotionless neutrality to drop over his features as Greene began to speak.

"Your Honour," he began, "until I resigned recently I had worked at Haimes, Mason, Monroe for almost my entire professional career. I was never offered a partnership and I knew I didn't deserve it, so I didn't try to improve my prospects by moving to another firm and just stayed where I was. For the last few years all I've aspired to do is keep my head down, help those clients I could and retire with the best pension and health care benefits package I could get.

"I hadn't even had much contact with the senior partners since Mr. Haimes, the last of the original named partners retired a few years ago, so it was quite a surprise when I was called into the office of Mr. Mason, the son of the original partner."

The judge interrupted at that point. "A little more concise please Mr Greene, remember we are here to establish whether Dr. Grissom should be allowed to withdraw his plea. Please concentrate on what advice you gave him and how it differed from the advice you would have given if you had not been under outside influence. My judgement will be based on the results of your actions; their cause is not directly my concern."

"I apologise if I was circuitous, Your Honour, but I was trying to explain that, under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have given Dr. Grissom different advice, I would not have been advising him at all. I'd only been involved in three murder cases before this and never as first chair. I would have felt out of my depth taking on any such case and when Mr. Mason finally told me that I would be acting for one of the Nevada's foremost forensic scientists I was shocked. I tried to back out, but Mr. Mason said he'd chosen me for my discretion and that he didn't want to have to tell any more people about the case than he absolutely had to. He assured me that the case was unlikely to reach trial and my responsibility was to negotiate the best deal I could for my client and persuade him to take it. He told me he wouldn't take the case himself as the defendant couldn't afford a senior partner to represent him, but he was willing to review my work and offered to take second chair if, for some reason, a trial couldn't be avoided."

"If I might interrupt?" Morgan broke in at this point. Grissom fought the urge to use the pause to turn around in his chair and check on Paul's expression. This was the first time his occupation had been mentioned and he was sure he'd heard a rustle of movement from where the guard was seated by the door, perhaps a start of surprise? The distraction was brief, however, as Morgan was speaking again and what he had to say gripped Grissom's attention and held it by the throat.

"The offer made by Mr. Greene's employer to take second chair is questionable in itself, Your Honour, because one of the prosecution's main witnesses with regard to Dr. Grissom's presumed motive is Mr Mason's first cousin. I'm sure any judge would have asked him to stand down because of that connection whatever protests of neutrality there might have been."

"Is this relationship true?" The judge's question was addressed to someone not visible on the television screen, but Grissom recognised the voice which replied as a member of the District Attorney's team, apparently there to observe and represent the prosecution's interest in the outcome of this hearing.

"Certainly one of our witnesses is a lawyer by the name of Andrew Mason, but obviously this question has only just come up, so I can't speak for any family relationship between him and the partner in Mr. Greene's law firm."

"However I can, Your Honour, the evidence is in the folder I submitted earlier."

Grissom felt tense. The name Mason was familiar to him, but only because Paul Millander had used the name as an alias. It hadn't been Millander's real name, so he couldn't have been related to any other Masons and, if Grissom recalled correctly, Millander's son was named Craig not Andrew and anyway he was still too young to have started law school let alone become a lawyer. He couldn't place any one else of that name who might wish him harm, but it wasn't like Mason was an unusual name, he could easily have missed someone. He just wished that what he was hearing wasn't all so new to him, but when Morgan had tried to brief him he'd only had the concentration to cope with the barest essentials for this hearing. No doubt if he ever got a full trial Morgan would want to discuss all the witnesses involved in detail.

"Were you aware of that connection?" the judge asked Greene.

"No, Your Honour, to be honest I didn't know much about the case against Dr. Grissom at all, I was just told that the evidence against him was overwhelming and the best thing I could do was concentrate on making sure he got a good deal from the DA."

"And you didn't look any further at the evidence once you'd accepted the case?"

"No, Your Honour, it was my intention too, but once I'd had my initial meeting with Doctor Grissom there didn't seem much point. As soon as we were alone the first thing he said to me was 'it's hopeless, isn't it?' and, to be honest it didn't seem like a question, more a statement of fact. As I was aware that Doctor Grissom knows far more about criminal forensics than I ever will I simply took his word when he said the physical evidence against him was conclusive. In fact I was surprised that the DA appeared to be open to a possible plea bargain, if that was the case. Of course I found out later that the deal that was on the table was not the sort one would normally expect."

"Yes, and we'll get to that in a moment." The judge was obviously feeling the need to keep Greene on a narrow path, concentrating only on what she needed to know to make her decision. "You seem to remember your initial meeting with Dr. Grissom very clearly. Can you give me any observations you made regarding his state of mind at the time?"

Greene gave another brief glance over his shoulder. "I found him to be very fatalistic, as if he felt that nothing he could do would make a difference to what was happening to him. There was a lack of energy about him too. Although I never had to examine the appellant directly in court I had been present at a number of hearings where he acted as an expert witness and there were times when I found it difficult to believe I was talking to the same man."

"Couldn't that simply have been the result of the 'fall from grace' Dr. Grissom had just undergone?"

"Possibly, Your Honour, but it seemed like more than a simple change in demeanour. Doctor Grissom was less erudite, less thoughtful, less, less _present_ than normal. It felt like the real man had left the building and I was talking to some remnant he'd left behind."

"And you didn't consider that worth going into?"

"As you said Ma'am, Dr. Grissom's behaviour could have been explained by the change in his circumstances and when I suggested a psychiatric evaluation might be useful in expanding his options he was adamant that he did not want to go ahead. I was feeling very insecure myself at the time and decided not to push. Obviously I now wish I had, particularly as the psychiatrist's findings would not have been as open to manipulation as I turned out to be."

In his room at the prison Grissom briefly raised his hands to rub them over his face. At the moment it sounded as though his own actions had condemned him as much as anything Greene had done. He couldn't have tripped himself up more successfully if he'd tried. Opening his eyes again he looked at the monitor just in time to see Greene turn back from yet another glance at the screen behind him. The former lawyer had gone quite pale. Grissom suddenly realised that he'd unthinkingly revealed his handcuffs to those watching him and, if Greene's conscience had already been pricking him, this additional evidence of the damage his actions had caused appeared to have struck home.

"Now," the Judge prodded once she had Greene's attention once more, "tell me about the deal with the District Attorney's Office."

"When I went to the DA's office I didn't know for sure what to expect, all I could hope for was that this wasn't merely a case of giving Dr. Grissom an incentive to plead guilty to save the public paying for a trial, because with such a large body of evidence against Dr. Grissom the deal would almost certainly be a case of take it or leave it, with no room for negotiation. If, on the other hand there was something specific that Dr. Grissom had to offer which the prosecution wanted then I would be starting from a much stronger position.

"It turned out to be the latter, unfortunately the arrangement was to be far more complex than anything I'd come across before and my best efforts at research produced no precedent for the arrangement that was to be made. I was flying blind and I turned to Mr. Mason for guidance, following his advice even though my own instincts said otherwise because I wasn't strong enough to trust myself instead of him."

"Well, we're not here to put that deal under microscopic scrutiny, although I suspect Mr. Morgan may choose to do so at some point. Just stick to the broad strokes of what you felt made it unusual and the advice you received which you felt had a negative effect."

While the judge was speaking Grissom took a much needed sip of water. Now that the court had seen his cuffs once he was less cautious about allowing them to be seen, and what he was hearing was leaving a very sour taste in his mouth.

Having taken a moment to reframe his thoughts according to the Judge's request Michael Greene recommenced his tale.

"The deal worked out in this case came in two halves. The first was a basic sentence bargain; in exchange for pleading guilty to Murder two, Dr. Grissom would be given the minimum sentence for that crime. I had no problem taking that to my client, but I was concerned about the second part of the deal. Most plea bargains are quickly satisfied, leaving the defendant to serve the rest of his term without having to worry about keeping his side of the deal. In this case Dr. Grissom can be called upon to fulfil his obligation under the deal multiple times and at any point during his sentence and the possible consequences of being deemed in breech of the arrangement will remain with him for just as long. I felt there should be some form of limit placed on that part of the deal. I also felt the deal was one sided in that all that Dr. Grissom was offered in return was anonymity and protection while serving his term. I felt that reasonable measures to ensure the Doctor's safety as a vulnerable prisoner should surely be taken as a matter of course, whether or not a deal was in place. In fact it has since been pointed out to me that had the deal not been in place Dr. Grissom would almost certainly have been moved to serve his sentence in another state, away from the large number of potential enemies he has been involved in convicting here in Nevada.

"I failed to deal with any of this beyond negotiating a small payment to be made in remuneration for Dr. Grissom's services and, on the Doctor's request, negotiating to substitute a plea of nolo contendere for the originally required guilty plea. I even encouraged my client to take the deal as his best option. I deeply regret the entire incident and offer Dr. Grissom my profound apologies."

Grissom remained silent, his face blank. Even if the time and place had been appropriate for him to respond to Greene's expression of regret he doubted he could have accepted it without succumbing to a strong urge to vomit.

The Judge too remained silent for a few moments absorbing what she'd just heard. Finally she checked her watch before looking up.

"Thank you, Mr. Greene, I believe I've heard all I need to from you. You may step down.

"Tomorrow I may have more questions for you, Mr. Morgan, and the ADA involved in this case should also make himself available. I expect to rule at some point tomorrow morning and I believe you have further motions dependant on that ruling Mr. Morgan, be prepared to argue them then.

"For now, Ladies and Gentlemen, we are adjourned."

Grissom slumped back in his chair while he waited for John Morgan to go to the side room of the court so they could talk briefly before Gil went back to his cell. He still felt very upset by what he'd just heard, more than he had really expected to be. It had certainly made him forget about everything else and he jumped when he felt a hand drop on his shoulder.

"Sorry, James. I just wanted to let you know that my shift officially ended about forty-five minutes ago. I'll stay until you're finished in here, but I won't be escorting you back to your cell. As a witness I'm not really supposed to be talking to you at all before your preliminary hearing other than what's essential while we're in here, but I thought I should let you know that that's the _only_ reason I haven't been interacting with you very much. OK?"

Grissom nodded and produced a lop-sided smile of relief, but Paul was already retreating to the door, using a finger to indicate that Grissom needed to turn around because Morgan had just reappeared on the monitor.

Turning back to the screen, Grissom lifted the handset.

"Another good session, Grissom."

"It didn't feel like it at the time, John, but I guess you're right. Do you think the Judge has already made her mind up, if she's so confident of making a ruling tomorrow morning?"

"She certainly has a good idea what questions she still needs to ask, but I wouldn't like to infer anything else right now. So, how are you doing? I don't hear a stammer right now."

"I think that might be the adrenaline, I feel pretty angry about what happened. I'm also angry that I got the Notice of Charges we talked about just before I was brought down here after lunch. The charge is a-assault, and they p-plan to go ahead with the pr-preliminary hearing ASAp-P." Dammit, the stutter was back.

Morgan had heard it too.

"OK, normally I'd say leave it until we know how tomorrow morning goes, but it's clear that you need to take control of this now, if you possibly can. You should have been given a copy of the Inmate Disciplinary Manual when you first arrived. You need to dig it out and read it tonight, concentrating directly on the parts applying to your circumstances. Inmates are supposed to be able to deal with the disciplinary process without the aid of a lawyer; in fact officially you have no right to consult one. _You_ are far smarter than the average prison inmate and I'm sure once you're more aware of the process involved you'll feel more confident. If nothing else reading up will stop you from just sitting and fretting. We'll talk again after tomorrow's session here, to consider how the two hearings might affect each other. Maybe by the time we're finished the assault charges won't even matter.

"Well, I have to go if I'm going to be prepared to bring my follow up motions. I'll see you tomorrow, OK?"

"OK." As the screen went blank Grissom grabbed the remaining water and knocked it back as a single slug. For the first time he regretted the fact that alcohol was banned in Prison, he wasn't much of a drinker, but he could have done with a Scotch tonight.

A/N OK, that's it I hope this latest chapter doesn't feel too 'rough and ready', but I wasn't too good this weekend and didn't finish in time to give this as many read-throughs as I normally would. Please contribute your comments as usual, thanks! :)


	24. At Any Price?

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 24**

**At Any Price?**

Once again John Morgan found himself facing a TV screen showing the image of Gil Grissom and trying to assess his client's state of mind. Bending the rules a little Paul Anderson had found an excuse to leave the A/V room temporarily, so, for once Grissom wasn't clutching the telephone handset to his ear in a desperate attempt to have some privacy.

Grissom had removed the glasses that belonged to his 'James Price' persona to reveal dark smudges colouring the deep set wrinkles beneath his eyes. He'd clearly had a restless night, but his actual expression was less telling. It was, however, marginally more readable than it had been the previous day, when, part way through Michael Greene's testimony, Morgan had noticed Grissom's face go completely blank, showing no expression nor even much animation. It had been a relief when Gil had finally clicked back to 'normal' and rubbed his face as if exhausted. If all went well today and Grissom was given the chance of a full trial, Morgan would need to have a serious talk to his client about that, nothing made a jury think 'guilty' like seeing the defendant looking indifferent to either the victim's fate or his own. It wasn't a bad instinct on the jurors' part, a real psychopath would have no feelings for his victim or anyone else but himself, while a sociopath would not care what his peers on the jury thought, therefore neither would show much emotion while on the stand. Unfortunately it left Grissom, and those people like him, who protected themselves by hiding their true feelings from the world, at a disadvantage and Morgan's client would have to find a way to overcome his natural instincts and show the jury he did care about what was happening if they were to win the case.

For now, though, all that mattered was what was going to happen today and Morgan had arranged for Grissom to be able to use the A/V equipment well in advance of his court hearing recommencing so the two of them would have time to talk.

Having given up on reading the enigmatic visage in front of him Morgan just asked Grissom how he was feeling outright.

"Confused," was the response, as Gil tried to run his hands through his closely cropped hair, "there's too much happening at once and I'm afraid my ability to multi-task is seriously diminished right now." He paused a moment resting his head on his right hand so that his forefinger and thumb rested on the outer corners of his eyes. His left hand, forced to follow its partner by the steel links connecting them rested briefly with its knuckles against Gil's cheek. When he looked up at the camera again it was with a deep sigh. "I just wish today was over with, John, one way or another, whatever the verdicts might be."

"Verdicts?" John asked, thrown a little by the plural.

"The prison knows the judge intends to rule this morning, so they've scheduled the preliminary hearing regarding my disciplinary charges for this afternoon."

"That seems fast."

"Regulations say that they should get the hearing done as soon as is practical after the alleged violation occurs, I guess they're sticking to that."

"It doesn't give you much time to prepare."

"After last night I think I'm as prepared as I'll ever be."

Grissom went on to explain that he'd followed Morgan's instruction to go through the Inmate Disciplinary Manual and now he understood a little better how he came to be charged with full blown assault, the booklet having explained that all offences included an attempt to commit them and the assault charge itself was defined as the _attempt_ to cause serious injury. Of course, Grissom pointed out to John, he hadn't even been thinking about hurting Paul, let alone 'attempting' anything. Still, it did explain how he could be charged with such an offence without even coming into physical contact with his so called victim. He just wasn't sure how to defend himself against that sort of charge, how could he prove or disprove what he'd been thinking, particularly when, at the time he hadn't really known himself? And, it seemed, the burden of proof was with him. It was made quite clear that prison discipline was an administrative process, not a legal one, and therefore presumption of innocence was not an automatic right. He tried to look on the bright side, pointing out to Morgan that at least he qualified for every one of what were considered to be 'mitigating' circumstances and listing them for him.

John was astonished by Grissom's rapid grasp of the prison's disciplinary system. "It sounds like you've memorized the manual." he half joked.

"Had to," was Grissom's serious response, "the lights go out at ten-thirty, so I knew I'd have no chance to read any more after that."

Morgan was impressed, that sounded more like the Doctor Grissom he'd faced so often in court. Hopefully Grissom would be able to find some feeling of control in a thorough understanding of what was happening even if, in the end, his fate was in the hands of the prison officers dealing with the case. Still, that was this afternoon. First there was the morning to get out of the way, and a positive decision from the judge was far more crucial than almost anything that could happen that afternoon, the prison clearly not having sufficient proof to bring the 'non-assault' as a criminal case because, if they had, the police would already have been involved.

"I just wish I knew what the punishment will be," Grissom sighed, "but apparently they aren't required to treat all prisoners equally and they only have guidelines, no set tariffs."

"Grissom, you said you're having trouble coping with having several things to deal with at once. Well, now you need to put aside your concerns for this afternoon. Let's get you through this morning first. I'll talk to you again once the session is adjourned, we'll look at your strategy regarding the charges once we know what your general situation is."

"Oh, OK." Grissom replied looking down at his hands as his fingers stretched and fidgeted on the table in front of him. "How do you think it will go?" He asked slowly and carefully as if willing his voice to remain steady. "I haven't d-dared think about it."

Morgan could tell how scared Grissom was, the stumble over the 'd' in 'dared' was the first time his stammer had revealed itself that morning.

"To be honest, I just don't know. The judge must be pretty sure how she's going to proceed to her final decision, but she clearly has some questions for the ADA on your case. His answers may be what swing this. If so, then we just have to accept that there's nothing more that we can do except wait and see. I know that's not going to be easy for you, Grissom, but it's the truth."

Grissom's sad eyes appeared to lose focus briefly as he processed Morgan's comments then, with a shrug, he just nodded his acceptance. There was a light tap on the door behind him and Paul re-entered looking apologetic, but Grissom just smiled his thanks, he'd known Paul couldn't be away for long because he had to be there once the official hearing began. Seeing that his client was no longer alone, and having nothing more to add, Morgan politely excused himself to go into the courtroom because the case would resume in a few minutes.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

As soon as the initial formalities were complete the judge requested the ADA in charge of Grissom's case to enter the witness box. Making it clear that it was not this particular hearing's function to assess the validity of Dr. Grissom's plea bargain, but to look into the circumstances of the decision to accept the deal, she began her questioning.

"Mr. Berisford, whether Mr. Morgan's view that the plea bargain made with Dr. Grissom was unfair is true or not, are we at least all in agreement that it varies a great deal from the kind of deal normally offered to a suspect in a criminal case?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Is it very unusual?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"I would imagine that most plea bargains involve at least a little negotiation between yourselves and the suspect and his representation."

"Yes, Ma'am, even those that the suspect is required to agree to quickly on a verbal basis can involve a certain amount of discussion over details before the paperwork is actually signed."

"Would you say that Dr. Grissom's arrangement involved more or less negotiation than usual?"

"About the same, Your Honour."

"What were the matters which agreement needed to be reached upon?"

"Firstly, the lawyer who was representing the Appellant at the time requested some remuneration be made whenever Dr. Grissom was required to perform work for the County Sheriff's Department. That was a complex negotiation but, as it had little to do with the DA's office, we merely acted as go betweens and consulted with the Department of Corrections over details such as prisoner's normal pay rates and how much Dr. Grissom would be permitted to hold in his prison account.

"We thought everything was tied up after that, but then Mr. Greene came back to us to say that his client was refusing to plead guilty outright and would we be prepared to settle for 'Nolo Contendere' instead? That's actually reasonably common and our policy is usually that, provided the outcome will be just the same from our point of view and that no civil proceedings regarding compensation are likely to be forthcoming, we generally have no objection. In this case the victim had no living relatives to pursue such a claim. The Sheriff's Office made disapproving noises when they heard about the plea change but also agreed. They'd been pushing for a rapid conclusion to the affair from the start so I don't think they wanted to prolong negotiations any further."

"Were you anticipating any other questions to be raised by Dr. Grissom's lawyer that were not forthcoming?"

"We were expecting to have to offer more regarding the details of the protection offered. We suggested a very basic package, the name change, a consultation with someone from PD who worked with undercover officers to suggest minor appearance changes and the option of going into segregation. Except for confirming that Dr. Grissom would feel safer on the segregation wing, that part of the offer wasn't really discussed."

"Thank you, Mr. Berisford. I have just one more question for now. When offering a deal I'm sure you consider the possible responses so that you can be ready with options that can be used as a part of any negotiation. Can you tell me if there was anything that you were expecting Dr. Grissom's lawyer to do that he failed to address? Again, we're not currently assessing the right's or wrongs of the final agreement, just trying to assess where Dr. Grissom's former representation may have failed him."

"I was expecting to have to discuss the possibility of a limit to the number of times the Sheriff's Office could call on Dr. Grissom's services or a limit to the length of time the arrangement would last. I would then have expected him to ask for the protection clause to be amended to include a guaranteed transfer to an out of state facility as soon as any obligation to the Sheriff was complete."

"Thank you Mr. Berisford, you may stand down as a witness, but as the DA's representative on this case I recommend you remain in the court while I conclude this hearing."

"Mr. Morgan, I would rather not listen to a long summing up, we are less than a day and a half from the commencement of hearing this motion and my memory is not inadequate, but, if you have anything you wish to add or flesh out, now is the time to do so."

As he stood to speak Morgan noticed movement from the TV screen which was situated to the Judge's left. Having realised how close they were coming to a verdict Grissom was changing his position to better gather what was going on. Morgan gathered himself, he preferred doing this in front of a jury, it was easier to assess his audience and 'play' to them. A single judge was far harder to read and most of them, including the woman he was facing, had little tolerance for courtroom theatricals.

"Not a summing up Ma'am, but a simplification. Dr. Grissom, like every US citizen had the right to a fair trial. He waived it because he was suffering from an illness that went unnoticed and because, for whatever reason, he was assigned an inadequate lawyer who was hampered in doing even his mediocre best by external influences. Under those circumstances anyone would be entitled to ask to withdraw the misadvised plea and enter a new one. Dr. Grissom is not asking to have his conviction quashed and to walk out of here his character unblemished, he is simply asking for the chance to be tried on the evidence, in a fair court, by his peers. He has already suffered greatly as a result of this dreadful mistake, and the service that my client has given to the cause of justice throughout his adult working life surely only adds to the tragedy that would occur today if he were to be denied justice of his own. Beyond that, Ma'am, I have nothing more to say."

Giving the judge a slight bow he nodded at the camera above Grissom's image then resumed his seat, hoping he'd got his final speech aimed just right.

There was a pause in events as the judge appeared thoughtful. Turning slightly she took a few moments to look at the appellant who awaited her decision. Morgan was almost pleased to see the expression of anxiety painted onto Grissom's features, much better than a blank canvass as the Judge mulled over her final words.

"I'm going to allow this."

The response was so simple, so without ceremony that it took a moment for it to register, then, almost simultaneously, Grissom's shoulders relaxed and a slight smile appeared on Morgan's face. He stopped it there, though, he had other motions to introduce and doing so bearing a triumphant grin might not get him quite the results he wanted.

"Thank you, Your Honour. May I now present my follow up motions?"

"Let the record read that Dr. Grissom is free to withdraw his plea of 'nolo contendere' in exchange for one of 'not guilty'. He is required to complete and submit all paperwork to this effect within seven days. Yes, Mr. Morgan, you may now present any follow up motions.

"Thank you. May I first invoke my client's right to a speedy trial?"

"Have you any objections to that, Mr. Berisford?"

"No, Your Honour, we'd like a reasonable amount of time to assess any additional evidence the defence intends to bring before the court, but other than that we're ready to go."

"Very well, in view of that and the time Dr. Grissom has already spent in jail I will request the Clerk of the Court arrange a commencement date as near as possible to one month from today. Next motion, Mr. Morgan?"

"I request that my client be released from prison while awaiting his trial."

The judge's eyebrows rose. "That would be unusual concerning the felony involved, I believe the Grand Jury finding was that there was sufficient evidence to try Dr. Grissom for first degree murder. Even if he were not already in prison that charge would require him to be remanded in jail until he was due to be tried. Perhaps you'd be so kind as to explain to me exactly why I should consider this?"

"As you said yourself when setting the trial date, Your Honour, my client has already spent over three months in prison. During that time he became seriously ill with a condition that went unnoticed and untreated for over two months. He has spent the entire time in a single cell including many days when he was never allowed to leave the room. To protect his identity he has been able to associate with no-one except prison staff. Yet, despite all this, he suffered an assault which left him with painful injuries and what is likely to be a permanent scar."

Unconsciously Grissom half raised his hands to finger the red line on his cheek before stopping himself. Until now it hadn't really occurred to him that he'd always have that mark to remind him of what he'd gone through, whatever happened in the future.

"Dr. Grissom may have made significant steps towards recovery from his illness, but prison, particularly for a man who must either spend his time almost entirely alone or be in fear for his life, is not a good place for a sick man to be. As of now, unless he proven guilty once his case comes to trial, my client should be treated as an innocent man. He has been through hell. Compassion would give him the chance to start to heal now, in a safe friendly environment. Justice would give him the chance to improve his state of mind so that he can cope better with the stress of his upcoming trial.

"It's a matter of weeks, Your Honour, my client is of previously excellent character, has strong connections with the city, having lived here over twenty-five years, and his close friend and former colleague, Captain James Brass of the LVPD Homicide Squad, has offered to guarantee any bail amount Your Honour may care to set."

The Judge held up her hand to show she'd heard enough.

"Mr. Berisford, do you have any objections to this?"

"No, Your Honour, the DA's Office trusts that Your Honour will take into consideration both the letter and the spirit of the law in making a decision regarding Dr. Grissom's release prior to trial."

Another judicial eyebrow raising.

"Mr. Morgan I will consider your arguments but, since Mr. Berisford hasn't raised the matter I will point out that I also need to consider the fact that Dr. Grissom has no relatives in Clark County or any of the surrounding areas, nor does he currently have any form of employment. These factors would act against him when assessing his likelihood to flee. The chance of him causing harm to others also needs to be looked into. I will adjourn this hearing for one week, during which time I will gather appropriate reports to aid in making my decision. Dr. Grissom, you should be warned now that any release I authorize will not be without conditions. In the interim you will remain where you are.

"Now, Mr. Morgan, is there anything else?"

"Just one more thing, Your Honour. If you would be so kind as to clarify the status of my client's plea bargain? His change of plea obviously nullifies it in part, but I would like you to verify, if possible, what call the Sheriff currently has on my client, and, most importantly, whether my client will now lose any of the protective measures currently in place?"

On the screen Grissom awaited the Judge's next words with his eyes tightly closed, convulsively swallowing to try and control the nausea that started to build as his elation at winning the case was suddenly overwhelmed by the fear of what might happen to him before he even got to his trial.

"For now I think both parties should consider the agreement broken."

Grissom's head dropped forward. Behind him Paul Anderson stood, ready to approach although he wasn't sure if Grissom was going to vomit, hyperventilate or burst into tears.

"However," the judge paused, waiting until she had the attention of those present. Even Grissom managed to look back up at his screen, his face milk white from fear. "However, as it appears Dr. Grissom was ill at the time of entering the agreement, I think it could be said that he was unfit to enter into a legal and binding contract, therefore he should not be penalized for failure to keep his side of the bargain. I am therefore instructing that, until Dr. Grissom's trial, his anonymity will continue to be preserved as before. After that point, Mr. Morgan, you'll have to speak to the Judge assigned to the trial.

"This hearing is now adjourned for one week pending my decision regarding Dr. Grissom's release while awaiting trial."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

That evening, Jim Brass positively bounced down the corridors of the Crime Lab. There was a huge grin on his face as he stuck his head into Trace to see what David Hodges was up to.

In contrast Hodges was looking positively miserable.

"Hey, cheer up Buddy; haven't you heard the good news? Grissom's won the appeal, his trial's next month and we might even have him out of there next week!"

Jim waited for David's response but, other than a vague quirk of the mouth, nothing happened.

"Hey, come on, Grissom's lawyer seems pretty positive and apparently the DA's Office didn't object to him being freed, which Morgan thinks is a sign that they expect Grissom to be cleared eventually and they don't want to be on his bad books when he is. Anyway, I'm guessing that the Judge is just taking her time to make sure everything's on the level before she let's him loose. I'm going along to that hearing and you can bet I'll be taking my cheque book so's I can post bail for him. All Gil has to do is stay out of trouble for a week, and this is Gil Grissom we're talking about, how much trouble can a guy like that get into, especially when Ecklie and the FBI aren't involved?"

Jim finally ground to a halt as he realised there was more to David's expression than a natural tendency to be downbeat.

"You know if you don't brighten up Gil's gonna be cheering you up when you visit the prison tomorrow."

"That's just it," Hodges responded with a sigh. "I'm not going to be seeing him. I got a call from the prison earlier telling me not to come."

Jim couldn't understand. "Why, what's the problem? Has he got ill again?"

"Apparently he's been given two days of Disciplinary Detention for something, they wouldn't say what, but apparently it means no visits except from his lawyer during that time. They say I can go in on Monday, but I had to call in several favours to get the time to see him tomorrow, I can't rearrange things now. But that's not really what matters is it? You just said that Gil had to keep out of trouble, and this Disciplinary Detention thing doesn't sound like something they hand out for minor offences."

Suddenly Jim felt completely deflated. What had Fate done to Gil now? Couldn't anything be straightforward for his friend?

Quietly, a much subdued Jim asked David to join him for a drink after shift, they both needed it and there was something Brass wanted David to do which required more privacy to discuss than they could get in the lab. To his surprise and relief Hodges agreed. Once their arrangements were made both men returned to bury themselves in their work, but their friend Gil Grissom was never far from their thoughts.

A/N I thought it was about time we saw Jim and David again, there will be more of them next chapter.


	25. A Lower Price

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 25**

**A Lower Price**

Paul tapped on the observation window to attract the attention of the person inside; he could see that the inmate was lying on his bunk curled up so that his features were invisible. It was possible that he was asleep, but at Anderson's knock the man rolled over quickly. As soon as he registered that someone wanted to enter his cell the prisoner was on his feet. Soon his back was against the far wall of the cell; his hands raised palms out, at shoulder level, as if he were surrendering to something.

Even once Paul had entered the cell and the door was re-locked behind him the inmate stood unmoving.

"It's OK, you can move again now, the door's secure." Cautiously the man before him lowered his arms, but seemed uncertain what to do next.

"How about you take a seat on your bunk and I'll take the stool?" He was silently obeyed. "That's more comfortable, isn't it, James, or maybe I should be calling you Gilbert now?"

"God, no!" At least the reaction showed that Grissom hadn't withdrawn into himself completely.

"It's OK," Paul tried to reassure him, "no-one can hear us right now."

"That's not what I meant, well not entirely, anyway." Grissom was looking down at his hands, pulling and playing with his fingers as he spoke. "It's just that, well, there's only one person still living who calls me that, and she only does it because she knows I'd let her get away with murd..." Grissom trailed off, the adage was so common that, even as a CSI, he didn't think twice about using the phrase, but this was the first time he'd been able to speak to Paul since his court hearing had begun and he couldn't be absolutely sure that 'getting away with murder' wasn't exactly what the prison guard thought he was trying to do.

Tangled in his thoughts there was a short silence before he quietly resumed, "James is fine, there's no point confusing the issue or risking a mistake at the wrong moment."

"And it would be a mistake, James," Paul responded to the half anxious, half questioning, look that Grissom had flashed him at that point, the first attempt at eye contact there had been since he entered the small cell, "I have no intention of telling anyone who you really are. I've worked in the prison service long enough to know what could happen to you if your identity became known and I won't be a party to that kind of victimisation."

Grissom closed his eyes for a moment as he allowed a small measure of relief to permeate through his body. He should have realised that Paul would not deliberately do him harm, but it was a definite boost to hear the actual words.

"Thank you." The words were half whispered, but the look that came with them was sincere.

Grissom looked as though he was expecting Paul to leave now that they had cleared the air. When he didn't move, Gil looked a little surprised, but then gathered himself to speak.

"I wasn't expecting you to turn up while I'm on Disciplinary Detention - isn't the rule that I'm only allowed visits from my lawyer?"

"Officially this is a psychological assessment. Normally inmates on DD only get one if they commit another offence while undergoing the punishment, but I suggested that your pre-existing problems mean that you should be checked on anyway, and as I know your difficulties better than anyone else..."

"So how do I persuade you to get me some Diazepam?"

Paul looked alarmed.

"Don't worry, I'm not addicted, just bored out of my mind and a little numbness would be more than welcome right now. Since I've been able to think more clearly time's been dragging more and more and now I've no distractions at all. I'm not sure how I'm going to cope with this, even if it is for just two days. I don't know what your contribution was to my being offered a deal, Paul, but if this punishment had been any longer I'd have been climbing the walls by the end of it."

"I don't think I did much really," Paul replied, "I just made it clear that I didn't believe you intended any harm. I suspect that they wanted to avoid having Mr. Craig and I contradicting each other at your hearing so they offered you a deal to avoid the need for us to testify. Luckily for them you took it."

Grissom nodded, his expression going slightly blank as he remembered the events of the previous afternoon. When he'd heard the words "plea bargain" his first instinct had been to refuse out of hand. After all, his last such agreement had been a disaster for him. However John Morgan had suggested that it was important to get any disciplinary action over with as quickly as possible, before he appeared in front of the judge again. The deal he was offered was that he should plead guilty to the general violation of breaking rules and regulations, instead of being judged on the accusation of assault. Grissom had decided to accept because a non-violent offence would surely look better on his record when the judge assessed him for release. There was also the advantage that the violation was considered a class D offence, which would mean he could receive his sentence and be punished immediately without waiting for a full disciplinary hearing. Most importantly of all, as far as Grissom was concerned, was that this time he was genuinely guilty of the offence he'd be pleading guilty to. According to regulations he should have remained in position at the back of his cell until either the cell door was locked again or he was told he was allowed to move, but he hadn't been able to stop himself from reaching out to Paul.

Next had come the sentencing. Grissom had sat quietly while the Disciplinary Hearing Officer had gone through his record. The Officer had commented that 'James Price' had very few privileges to lose, many being denied him because of his position in segregation. Those privileges he did have, he didn't seem to value very much, said the DHO, looking at the folder and seeing that the prisoner before him usually asked for his sessions in the exercise yard to be concluded early and that his canteen spending and personal 'phone calls were minimal.

"I don't have many options here, Price," he'd said eventually, "there's so little I can do that you would consider to be a punishment above and beyond your current circumstances. Therefore, despite the mitigating circumstances in your favour, I'm going to assign you to Disciplinary Detention. The maximum term for a general violation is five days. I'm giving you two, commencing first thing tomorrow. Anyone who is on your approved visitors list will be notified that you will be unavailable for visits until after your detention is over."

Grissom had signed his acknowledgement of the process thinking that missing his visit from David would be the worst part of the punishment, he was already in what most people would call solitary confinement, even if the prison system chose to use the term 'segregation' instead. Would he even notice the difference?

He'd held that thought until six o'clock the following morning. There had been a guard at his cell door as soon as the lights came on. He was given ten minutes to wash and dress and then more guards had arrived. His hands were cuffed in front of him and he was held just outside his cell door so that he could watch as two prison guards went through the room removing everything which hadn't been issued to him by the prison. He'd had to watch as every piece of reading material was removed and packed into a box, together with the few bits of food he had, which fortunately would not perish over the next two days. His puzzle books and Hodges' chess set were also packed away. Soon only his prison issue clothing, bedding, towels and a few essential toiletries had remained. As the guard who had been taking inventory of the removed items was about to get Price's signature, the man had been stopped. Apparently Price still had some personal items that needed to be confiscated. The watch, belt and athletic shoes he was wearing were not permitted under Disciplinary Detention. It was only by accident he'd had the shoes at all, he'd been wearing them when he was arrested because he'd had them on to walk Hank when he'd been called in for more questioning and hadn't bothered to change before going along to the station. By coincidence they were mainly white in colour, fitting prison clothing regulations and so he'd been allowed to keep them. As he was still handcuffed, the items were removed for him while a hand on his chest kept him backed against the wall. Finally he'd been allowed to sign the sheet and go back into his cell, his hands free once more. Somehow having to wear the prison issue slippers and constantly having to hitch up his pants felt almost as humiliating to him as wearing the orange jumpsuit and 'inmate' baseball cap did.

"Sorry." Grissom apologised, suddenly realising that his recall of the morning's events had caused him to drift slightly. Paul's expression was mildly concerned, but not enough so for Grissom to think that the brief pause had been mistaken for a catatonic absence. "I think it's not having my work to focus on any more, I seem to have developed a tendency to drift a little when something pops into my head."

Paul was reassuring. "It's OK; some people find depression does that, for others it's the antidepressants themselves which cause the problem." Paul was actually quite pleased that Grissom had 'drifted', that the prisoner now felt able to refer to his work when talking to Paul was a positive thing in Anderson's opinion.

"We were talking about the effect Disciplinary Detention has," he reminded Grissom, "A lot of the reasoning behind Disciplinary Detention is not just the basic punishment of being deprived of all non-essential items; it's intended to force prisoners to think about themselves, their position and what they did wrong."

"To consider the error of our ways." Grissom confirmed with a sardonic half smile.

"Yes," Paul smiled back, "it works quite well too, for the average prisoner, who, although I shouldn't say it, probably doesn't make a practice of thinking most of the rest of the time. However it's not ideal for our less average prisoners, for example those with PhDs..." Grissom looked up sharply to see if he was being mocked, but a grin from Paul declared it to be mild teasing at most.

"Look, James, it's clear that you were already spending far more time thinking about your situation than was really good for you, even before this punishment was imposed. I can understand that, without anything to distract you, you're going to be feeling pretty bad right now. Obviously I'm not going to recommend that you be given a sedative, in fact I think it's the last thing I think you need right now. However, I will be reporting my concern that this punishment will have a negative effect on your mental health. I don't think it will be enough to get this cut short but, hopefully, it might be enough to get me in to see you at least a couple of times a day. Then at least you'll have someone to talk to. OK?"

Grissom agreed and Paul managed to engage him in a little small talk before a guard appeared to let him out of the cell. Once he was gone Grissom resumed his position on his bunk, intending to try and sleep away most of his punishment and hoping his dreams would transport him to a better place. As for where he was now, he felt he might be able to bear it a little longer, now that he knew Paul had not abandoned him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Many miles away, in a quiet bar, just far enough from the Crime Lab and PD not to be a common hang out for the people who worked in the two buildings, Jim Brass and David Hodges sat at a corner table. Their position was discreet, but not so much so that they actually looked like they were hiding something. Brass was an expert at spotting clandestine meetings and was doing his best not to display any of those signs.

Only their choice of drinks declared they were not two colleagues meeting for a quiet wind down session after work. Mindful of the time of day and their intention to drive home afterwards they had chosen to avoid the alcoholic beverages available from the twenty-four hour bar and, while Hodges' large OJ could have been mistaken for a Screwdriver by a casual observer, Jim's black coffee was unmistakeable for anything else.

"So," Hodges asked, once their server had been tipped with an amount large enough to ensure her prompt service when it was required but small enough to avoid her constant vigilance as she attempted to earn more, "what did you want from me?"

Brass sighed internally, wishing that there had been a measure or two of vodka in David's drink after all. He did have something he needed David for, but it wasn't something easy or safe, if things went wrong then both Hodges and Grissom might suffer for it. He'd wanted to build up to asking slowly, not just because he thought it would take time to persuade Hodges to agree, but to give himself time to be absolutely certain in his own head that this was the right thing to do.

Jim's intention had been to start off by celebrating Grissom's victory in the courtroom, but that had been spoilt by the revelation that his friend had apparently got into trouble and that it might affect his chances of getting temporarily released the following week. If Jim had been prepared to admit it, he'd known those chances were pretty slim anyway.

Plan 'B' had been to attempt general chit-chat and, when that failed, which Jim knew it would, to move on to a general update on where things were at regarding Grissom's case, hopefully leading to a discussion of his idea which would either lead Hodges to accept it or convince them both to bury it forever.

Unfortunately it seemed Hodges had a plan of his own. Jim had slowly come to realise that Hodges was more complex than people thought. Like his hero Gil Grissom, it seemed that David Hodges lacked a natural instinct when it came to human relationships but, where Grissom was largely self-sufficient and had various more or less successful coping strategies which enabled him to keep the few relationships he was comfortable with and avoid or ignore the rest, Hodges was lost. David gave the impression that he was oblivious to how other people felt about him and impervious to any signals telling him he wasn't wanted around, but Jim was rapidly learning that this was a mask to hide Hodges' hurt, as much from himself as from those around him. Moments like this were what really gave David Hodges away; the man people thought he was would have accepted Jim's invitation as his right because, obviously, Jim realized his true worth and the two of them were great friends, weren't they? But David didn't actually think that, he thought Jim must have another motive to ask him out, therefore Jim must want something.

Jim would have liked to deny it, but it was true.

"Yes, I do have something to ask you, David," he began, but we have a few things to discuss first..."

**A/N **And there I will have to leave it, as I know I'm late posting this. I'm afraid I just have more things on at the moment than I can handle easily and something had to give. Sorry.


	26. Too High a Price?

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 26**

**Too High a Price?**

"So, what did you want from me?" Hodges placed his fingertips on the cool glass of juice in front of him. He'd known from the start that Brass hadn't invited him for a drink in order to enjoy his scintillating company, although, if he'd been asked that's pretty much what he would have claimed.

In the past David had often ended up wondering what real friendship was. He knew he tended to rub people up the wrong way, but was unsure what to do about it. As a kid he'd gained the impression that friendship and popularity were the same thing and that, in order to be popular, you had to have something the others wanted, beauty, wealth, a place on the football team, none of which he had. What he did have was his brain, but no-one seemed to notice that. He'd tried advertising this merit, not realising that it simply made him appear arrogant and, unable to come up with a plan that might be more successful, he'd stuck with that one until it had become ingrained in his personality. His lack of success made him more and more desperate to be involved in someone's inner circle, but his attempts to achieve that just added 'sucking up' to his apparent character traits. Once you threw in the thick skin he'd developed to cope with the constant rejection and you ended up with a man who was both dislikeable on the outside and desperately lonely on the inside.

Hodges had only begun to understand more about friendship when he began to interact with Gil Grissom.

Grissom's own lack of instinct in social situations could occasionally be an asset. He took people as he found them, making no quick judgements. It was useful in his line of work and gained him friends without him realising, simply because he accepted them for who they were, not who they were expected to be and that was important, because it was exactly what Gil Grissom needed in return.

Hodges had become so used to being written off and avoided within a short time of meeting someone that Grissom's attitude had been a revelation and he'd immediately overreacted, believing there was a strong friendship where there was really very little, but that had only been the first step.

Another had come when he'd apologized to Grissom after persuading the other lab rats to help him re-examine the evidence in the 'Miniature Killer' cases. The old Hodges would not have been able to see beyond having discovered an important clue that had previously missed, but he had acknowledged Grissom's feelings enough to realise he'd overstepped a mark and was even prepared to say sorry, something almost completely new to him.

Recently he'd discovered another big part of friendship, an urge to help even when there might be no benefit to him. He was prepared to do anything to help the man who was struggling so hard to survive right now. So, what if Brass wanted something from him? If it was for Grissom, he really didn't mind. He leant forward, showing that he was prepared to listen.

Brass offered him a flat smile, as if realising he'd been caught out.

"Yes, I do have something to ask you, David," he began, but we have a few things to discuss first.

"I know it's been a blow that Gil has to wait a week to see if he'll be released prior to trial and your news makes it look as though he may be unlucky. For now, though, we have to concentrate on the fact that he won the appeal. He'll get a trial now and, let's face it, if the evidence we've got together already isn't enough to show 'reasonable doubt' regarding his guilt, then nothing will. I think we can be confident that he'll be found 'not guilty' and allowed to go"

Brass stopped for a moment to resettle himself in his chair.

"The question is, David, is that enough? You know as well as I do what all this has done to Gil, he's lost so much of himself. I'm not sure how he's gonna cope with the stress of going to court. Even if he comes through it without getting sick again, how is he going to move on from here? Even after being found innocent he still won't get his job back. Mud sticks too, as they say. There will always be someone who points out that there's 'no smoke without fire'. He's going to have to deal with that for a long time and it's not like there's only going to be a few people that know what's happened.

"The media's been pretty kind to Gil so far," Brass continued, "I don't know if it's because of the Sheriff's influence or something else, but they haven't tried to overturn the restrictions placed on them regarding reporting the case. That will all change once a trial begins. It will be a major story and it won't just stop with the local papers. It will reach national TV, and there's nothing that can be done to stop it." Jim paused for another mouthful of coffee.

"Unless, of course, we can avoid a trial altogether."

"You're not planning on helping him abscond?"

Jim grinned as if Hodges had just made a joke, although the expression on the other man's face was completely serious. Then the detective became serious again too.

"If I actually thought it would help I might just have considered it," he replied, "but this is Gil we're talking about. He'd never agree to run away. I'd have to take him against his will. Even if I got him away I'd probably end up being as much of a jailor to him as his current guards are because, the moment he got a chance, he'd go and turn himself in. Besides, having Gil appear on 'America's Most Wanted' wouldn't actually help when it comes to keeping things quiet.

"No, the best way to avoid Gil having to face a trial is to get hold of the real murderer. Then, although it would still reach the press, Gil would probably just be a footnote, mentioned, but always with the words 'wrongfully accused' close behind, it's the one way to make sure people are convinced that he genuinely hasn't done anything and not just cleverly got off on a technicality."

Hodges was nodding, but didn't appear enthusiastic about Brass' 'plan'.

"That sounds great," he responded, "but it's easier said than done. All the evidence from the case has been gone over multiple times and, even if we can prove that someone other than Grissom did this, I haven't noticed any names popping up that would give us a suspect to try and match things to."

"Oh, but there is a name, and it's one that appeared in the McCain case right at the start, long before you pointed out that there was more to Grissom's apparent guilt than mere coincidence." Jim stopped for a moment to check that there was no-one within earshot before he continued.

"I told you before that one of the witnesses who came forward against Gil was hardly squeaky clean. Vincent Lurie has got away with murder before and I think he's trying to do it again and this time it's at Gil's expense. The problem is going to be proving it, and conclusively enough that we can't be accused of picking on him just so that we can get our guy off."

"Have we anything at all beyond your hunch and that he's volunteered to testify for the prosecution?"

"Personally I think that he managed to find a reference to Gil's suspension that was carefully buried in two column inches on page five of the local paper is a sign that he was already looking out for something similar, but disregarding that, he's a doctor and would have access to chloral hydrate."

"Just like almost every MD in the Vegas area."

"Next we have the physical similarity between Laura McCain and one of the victims in the earlier case, Debbie Marlin."

"But you told me Lurie couldn't be charged with the first murder due to lack of evidence, so you can't use a link between the two cases as a link to him." Hodges stated.

"Yeah," Brass replied looking haggard, "and, because he wasn't charged his prints and DNA were never added to any criminal data bases, nor can we pull them from the evidence from the Marlin murders so, unless he agrees to give samples, we have nothing to compare to the small amount of physical evidence that might have come from him."

Jim paused for a moment and waved to the waitress to refresh their drinks, it was turning into a long session and, after a long shift, he needed the coffee to help him think straight. Once the woman had finished her work and retreated again, Hodges recapped what he could remember of the evidence that had been gathered in the hope it would confirm the presence of a suspect for Laura McCain's murder other than Grissom.

"There were hair and skin cells from at least five people on the seat head rests of Laura McCain's car and only those from Grissom and Miss McCain have been identified so far, so Lurie could be one of the other donors. Greg also got an unidentified partial on the seat adjuster of the driver's seat."

"Yeah, I heard about that," Brass nodded, "Lurie's tall and Warrick and Sara noticed that the car belonging to Debbie Marlin's boyfriend had had the seat adjusted to suit a much taller man than its owner. According to Greg the seat in McCain's car had been moved out of its old position and then back, so he seemed to have learned from last time, but didn't allow for Greg noticing new wear on the seat tracks. Then there's the blood."

"That was found on the 'rabbit hole' from Nick's apartment. Nick thinks that the tool used to make the hole slipped and pierced any glove the user was wearing before scraping the skin and producing microscopic drops of blood which got onto the drywall. Of course there would be no evidential link between the scene at Nick's and the murder scene if I hadn't compared the tool marks on the hole with those from the B and E at the McCain house and found that they were a match." Hodges couldn't quite stop himself from claiming that little triumph for himself.

"Even if all these things did match up to Lurie we wouldn't have as strong a case against Lurie as there is against Grissom," David went on, "but it would confirm him as a suspect, which would at least be a start. I can see that Lurie isn't likely to volunteer samples, but couldn't you apply for a warrant?"

"We haven't enough. A judge would query motive and, as there was no prosecution or punishment, Lurie could claim that he has no reason to victimise Gil. Plus there's the timescale thing, usually if there's a delay between serial killings or before an attempt to get revenge it's because the perp has been imprisoned, hospitalised or out of state, but Lurie has been on plain view working as a surgeon at Desert Palm for the whole time since Debbie Marlin was murdered. If he wanted some kind of revenge on Gil, why wait until now? On top of all that, the guy is clever; by volunteering as a witness he's put himself in a good position. Any judge is going to demand a far higher standard of reason for suspicion before allowing anyone to go near a witness and if I approach him direct, even to ask a casual question, then he's going to yell 'intimidation', harming Gil's case and probably getting me suspended as well."

"And you really have nothing stronger?"

"Not that I can use, although there are two strong leads I'd like to follow up I'm pretty much blocked." Jim hesitated a moment, tempted to have the waitress 'Irish up' his coffee before he continued. Instead he sighed deeply.

"The Henderson detectives couldn't find any records of a cab dropping a passenger near where Gil said he left Laura McCain on the night of her murder. They claimed it made Gil's story even more suspicious, but we know he wasn't lying, so I tried to locate the cab by coming from a different angle. I know unlicensed cab drivers tout for business around Desert Palm so I started asking questions around there. After a couple of hours and quite a few dollars I found a guy who did remember taking someone from the hospital to that location and the description he gave was pretty familiar. Not that it's going to do much good."

"Why not, it sounds like exactly what we need?"

"Guy disappeared the next day; no-one's seen him since."

"Another murder victim?"

"I doubt it; I think he just didn't want to testify. I probably managed to persuade him I could get him immunity for the unlicensed touting, but most of the guys who do that sort of thing are illegal aliens too and the address he gave me doesn't check out. He was never going to be that reliable anyway." Jim shrugged.

"And the other lead?" Hodges moved on quickly to hide his disappointment.

"Only a little better. The autopsy on Laura McCain showed she'd had minor surgery a few weeks before she died. The Henderson team confirmed that with her regular doctor and left it at that. I went back to him and, when I found that she'd had the surgery at Desert Palm, I took it one step further and checked with the hospital."

"And?"

"There are no records of an admission for Laura McCain at the time there should have been. It would only have been an overnight stay, but there should have been something. Then I checked which surgeon would have handled the type of procedure she had and guess whose name came up?

"Of course that was the point where I had to back off, if I start asking questions about Lurie it goes back to witness intimidation again."

"So we're stuck in a loop." Hodges realised the difficulty. "If you can't show there was a strong chance Lurie was involved you can't get a warrant for samples, but without the samples to prove Lurie's presence at the scene you can't show good reason to investigate him to confirm that he might be involved."

"Exactly." Jim leaned his elbows on the table before resting his chin on his clenched fists. "This brings me to what I need to ask you.

"I'm sure you know the old CSI trick that it's OK to test someone's rubbish for samples once they've left it behind. I need someone to get something with Lurie's fingerprints and DNA. Tracking him down somewhere like the hospital canteen would probably work and be better than going through his trash, where any samples might be contaminated."

"And, for the same reason I can visit Gil when you can't, I can get near Lurie where you couldn't." Hodges wasn't slow.

"You also know how to preserve any evidence and have the authorisation to take responsibility for it, maintaining the chain of possession from the moment it leaves Lurie's hands." Brass confirmed Hodges' conclusion. "The thing is, David, that this is vital. We know the benefits there will be if we can get this right and Lurie really is involved, but we also know the repercussions if things go wrong. If our target suspects you and finds you have a connection to Gil then it would be a major disaster and it's our friend who would suffer the worst. So, do you want to risk it? If you have any doubts say so because it would be better to deal with the consequences of a trial on Gil's mental health than have this go wrong."

David leaned back in his chair, his eyes hooded in thought. After a pause he looked back up at the detective.

"I can't make a decision like that and nor can you, Grissom has to have a say. You said yourself he's lost so much of himself and I think that a lot of that is because he hasn't had any control. We can't take any more from him by playing with his life like this. If he gets out next week then we have to put all the arguments in front of him and let him decide. If he thinks it's worth a go then I'll do it, but only if he says so."

"And if he doesn't get to come home?"

"Then we find some other way to get his input. This is a major gamble, Jim and, however poor Gil's mental heath might be right now, he's the one who'll really pay the price if things go wrong. He may want to leave the choice to us, but we can't assume that."

After all, Grissom's number one rule was never to assume anything.

**A/N **Yet another delay, this time mainly due to health problems. Hopefully I am now 'on the mend' and I have pretty much cleared the decks of other obligations so, with a bit of luck, I hope to be back to more regular postings from now on.

I have put a lot of effort into this story so, please be reassured, **I will **_**not**_** abandon it.**

Finally, thanks to Seaya who queried what happened to the cab.


	27. A Good Price?

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 27**

**A Good Price**

Grissom stared down at the small chess board he held in front of him, making sure he angled it so that his opponent could continue to study the configuration of pieces while he waited for Gil to make his move. It was good to have the set in his hands again. Even though he'd only been without them for two days, he'd felt like a kid at Christmas when his personal possessions had been returned to him. In fact, he'd had to suppress a childlike urge just to grab the box and retreat to his bunk, hugging it to his chest. However, mindful of the slip that had led to this whole mess in the first place, he'd managed to wait patiently while the paperwork had been dealt with and he'd been given a mini-lecture reminding him that some of the items he was being permitted to keep in his cell and also the number of packages he'd been allowed to receive since he had been incarcerated were special privileges that might not last forever. Only then had he been left alone to enjoy the welcome distraction of having something to read and puzzles to work. Anything to help keep his thoughts away from his impending court appearances would have been welcome after two days of nothing to do but think and worry.

Still, it was lucky for Grissom that his possessions didn't include a competition chess clock, because he'd now been in the same position for several minutes without acting. It wasn't even that he couldn't think what move to play, his skill at chess was almost back to its old level and, while Paul Anderson's game was in no way poor, Grissom's win rate had increased sufficiently that he had made up for the early matches when he'd struggled to even remember what colour he was playing. By now their tally of wins was probably about even.

"James? Are we still playing? This may be your last chance to beat me, you know." Paul asked, still using Gil's alias as they'd agreed. He'd decided that Grissom's reverie had gone on long enough.

"I know. That could be why I'm a little distracted, I guess."

"Paul," Gil began again, "there's something I need to say and, well, even before this all happened, it's not something I would have found easy. I'm not known for my personal communication skills. In fact I could safely say I'm known for _not_ having good personal communication skills." As though the comment he'd just made had reminded him of some of those skills that he didn't do well, Grissom made a visible effort to pull his line of sight away from the chess board and up to meet Anderson's eyes. He followed up with a smile, the briefness of which showed the struggle involved in producing that simple social nicety.

"I guess this would be easier if I knew for sure what is going to happen tomorrow, because once I've said what I want to say I have a feeling I'll find it embarrassing if we meet again and the bail hearing will probably determine that, even more so than the full trial will, I suspect.

"I had a long talk with my lawyer yesterday. He really wanted me to concentrate on getting a positive outcome at both hearings, but I insisted on discussing what will happen if things go wrong. Basically, if I don't get bail then I'll almost certainly be staying here until the trial begins. You probably already know that I'll be appearing in court tomorrow using the video link again, so it would be pointless for the Department of Corrections to bother transferring me somewhere else when the trial date I've been given is only just over three weeks from now."

Paul responded to this remark with a humorously quirked eyebrow. He'd been working for the DoC for too many years to believe that they would avoid doing something just because it was pointless. He didn't actually say anything though, because he didn't want to interrupt Grissom's flow.

"If I'm found guilty after my trial," continued Grissom, his voice calm but his irregular breathing and increased swallowing rate showing Paul his real anxiety levels, "my lawyer will request that I be held at a secure mental unit rather than return to a Nevada State prison, although hopefully that would be a short term thing until a place is found for me in another state's prison. I can't say I'm entirely h-happy about that, but my lawyer is insisting and I don't think I'll be in any c-condition to argue with him if things c-come to that." Grissom's stutter underlined his comments and he stopped at that point, staring down at his hands where they still grasped the game board.

He didn't see Paul nodding quietly in agreement with the decision. The guard knew he could probably get his charge through the short wait until his trial if he wasn't released after the next day's hearing but, if Grissom lost the murder trial, Paul would be the first to recommend that he be placed on suicide watch and also suggest that longer term mental health care might be necessary. Familiar as he was with the prison's mental health wing, he knew someone like 'James Price' whose problems and personality were very different from the majority of prisoners who ended up on there, would get more appropriate care in a secure hospital.

Grissom was still staring at the chess board which now trembled a little, along with his clutching hands. Carefully, Paul lifted the set away from Gil and placed it on the shelf behind him before offering the prisoner his full attention.

"OK, how about we start with one of those breathing exercises I taught you and then, once you're feeling calmer, if you still feel you have something you want to say to me, I'll listen. After that, if you want, we can go back to our game and pretend we didn't talk about any of this at all." Paul concluded his speech with a friendly grin. Going back to the chess match would give his charge the opportunity to rebuild any emotional defences that he might have let down during their conversation. It was a variation on a method Paul had used in the past to allow inmates with a far tougher demeanour than Dr. Grissom to 'save face' after talking about their feelings and emotions.

Grissom didn't manage to smile in return, but showed his assent to Anderson's suggestion by shifting from his sitting position on the edge of his bunk until he was lying back, ready to begin the breathing exercise.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"What _is_ it Hodges?" Asked Mandy, finally giving in to the irritation caused by David as he wandered around her lab, occasionally leaning forward to crane his neck over her shoulder in an attempt to see how she was progressing with her work, while he waited for a suitable moment to interrupt her.

Hodges sighed, taking a step back and rubbing the back of his neck. He had been thinking about how they might solve the Lurie fingerprint problem ever since his conversation with Brass a few days earlier and now he finally thought he'd worked out how to phrase his question and plucked up the courage to bring his query to Mandy the fingerprint expert, or 'Miss Mockery' as he'd been known to refer to her.

Now his bravery was making a rapid exit. He'd wanted to catch Mandy in a good mood but, as usual, his very presence had made that impossible. He took another deep breath then dove in quickly, because Mandy looked like she was about to say something scathing before chasing him out of her lab and anyone who could make Nick Stokes sing for his results was worthy of a great deal of respect.

"If you ran a print through AFIS and the person it belonged to was on the database because of their profession, is there any reason why you wouldn't get a match, at least one that was sufficient to put the person on a list of possible suspects?" David reeled off quickly then took another half step backwards, standing awkwardly as he waited for Wendy's response.

"Is this a question about an actual case?" was her suspicious first reaction, "Because, if it's another of your game scenarios, I have better things to be..."

"It's about the McCain case." Hodges threw in quickly. Surely she would hear him out if she knew this might be for the boss?

"OK," Mandy answered slowly as she turned back to her computer and began hitting a few keys. "So, assuming this isn't some mystery fingerprint that I haven't yet processed, we're actually talking about a partial, not a full print."

"And that would reduce the chances of getting a match?"

"It might, but it's more likely to have had the opposite effect."

"I'm sorry?"

_You probably should be for something _thought Mandy, but carried on with her explanation.

By now Mandy had brought the print from Laura McCain's vehicle up on her screen. It was clear that it was only a partial, the seat adjustment lever was not ideally shaped for lifting prints and Greg's best efforts had only managed to produce a small area roughly the shape of an inverted heart.

"So, how do you know your potential suspect didn't show up as a possible match?" Mandy asked casually.

"Well, Captain Brass has seen the file and if you'd filed a report of the match we're looking for he would have said so." David avoided mentioning any details of what Jim and he had been discussing doing about the lack of match. Mandy raised an eyebrow at Hodges use of the word 'we' in connection with the detective captain, then let it drop, after all it was just the kind of thing Hodges probably did automatically to make himself seem more important.

"I didn't file a report of a specific match because of this." Mandy hit another key and a box appeared on the screen in front of her, superimposed over the fingerprint. The words 'Possible Matches with probability over 20: 476' were inside it. "That's a lot of prints to go through one by one," Mandy pointed out, "and I would have to check every single one, unless there's something else to link a particular suspect to the crime."

Hodges was still confused. "Wouldn't setting a higher threshold of probability reduce the number of possibilities and look better in court?"

Mandy shook her head, making the result box disappear again she pointed to the print, "There's your problem, you see, the area of print Greg managed to lift is only around a quarter of an adult male forefinger and then you also have to allow for the fact that there are a lot of variables to be taken into account when comparing prints, temporary injuries, the differences caused by a print being lifted from an uneven or curved surface when the reference prints are from a flat card or electronic print reader, things like that. That's why AFIS is only a tool, the first step before someone like me comes along and confirms that what the database suggests is a definitive match. Request a higher threshold and, in this case at least, you may lose the real donor."

"So our potential suspect could be one of those 476?"

Mandy shrugged, "Maybe, there's still a possibility the computer didn't see it as a match, in which case you've got even worse problems.

"So, Captain Brass thinks he has a specific suspect in the McCain case and it's not Grissom?" she continued.

"Yes, Jim says he's..."

"STOP, stop, stop." Mandy was almost shouting and David's jaw slammed shut.

"I'm supposed to be neutral, Hodges. I have to treat each print equally and compare them without bias. That's why I can't just go into AFIS with a name and work backwards. You must have known that."

"Actually, I didn't." David admitted, rubbing the back of his neck again in embarrassment, the technical aspects of fingerprinting being one of the few fields within criminal forensics that he hadn't studied in depth.

"Well, now you do." The fingerprint specialist's tone was abrupt and Hodges head drooped as he turned to leave her lab. For once Mandy was moved to pity him.

"Look, the only way I can call up an individual's prints for comparison is if there is other evidence which could lead to the person being considered a 'person of interest'."

"For example, if their DNA were found at another scene associated with the same crime?"

"That would do. Have they found something like that?"

"Maybe, but they can't get something to test it against without something else to link the suspect to the crime. So it's pretty much a vicious circle. I just wish there was some way to break it.

"So do I." Mandy agreed, remembering Nick's reaction to seeing Grissom at the mansion house crime scene. He'd been so shocked at the change he'd seen in his boss that he'd actually had nightmares.

"Unfortunately I can't help. There are just too many results for me to go through individually and still be able to claim in court that I gave each one equal consideration so, unless you can find me enough to justify me picking on a specific name, that's it. If I think of anything that might help I will. OK David?"

Hodges couldn't think that Mandy had ever called him by his first name before, but he was too disheartened to make anything of it. Smiling sadly in reply he wandered out of the room and back to his own domain.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Grissom let his eyes slowly open. Keeping them fixed on the ceiling he clasped his hand over his chest. Although the breathing exercise was complete he continued to take deep, steadying breaths and didn't turn his head to look at Paul who continued to sit quietly on the metal stool facing the bed.

"I need to thank you," Gil finally managed to say, " and I'm guessing that I might not get the chance to do so once I leave here, although I don't know exactly what the regulations are regarding contact with former inmates."

"Well, if you still end up with a conviction it would probably be a parole violation for you and a sacking offence for me. Even if you're found innocent my employers still wouldn't encourage contact on my part. Apparently it's an integrity thing." Paul shrugged.

Grissom nodded understandingly. "Then I'd better take my chance while I have it, I just hope that, if I find myself still here in a couple of days, I haven't made it awkward for myself to face you again."

"I won't make it difficult for you."

"I know," replied Grissom, bowing his head, "that's why I said I'd make it awkward for myself. It's the way I am, Paul, I run away from anything remotely stressful on a personal level." Looking around the small cell that confined him he sighed before continuing. "I suppose this is the first time I have had to cope without that option and it may even have helped trigger my catatonic episodes as an alternative escape route. I don't know.

"What I do know, is that I'd be worse off still if you hadn't been here. You were the first person to recognise that my symptoms were beyond my control and not deliberate acts of resistance and I suspect that it was only your recommendation that I be properly assessed that led to me getting treatment before I broke down completely.

"You've pretty much kept me together ever since, and I... I..." Grissom paused and shifted uncomfortably on the bunk while he searched for the words to continue.

Unable to find any that worked for him he shifted back to a sitting position and looked at Paul directly.

"Is it OK to shake your hand?" he asked, tentatively, unsure just how much physical contact he dared make.

Paul smiled and stood. Offering his own hand he nodded.

"It would be an honour." And Paul meant it.

A quiet "Thank you." was all Grissom could manage in response as he too stood and took Paul's extended hand.

He meant it too.


	28. The Price of Freedom

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 28**

**The Price of Freedom**

Jim Brass sat looking around the courtroom. He must have come to court to testify hundreds of times in his career, but today felt very different. For a start he was sitting in the public seats rather than on a bench outside, waiting to be called. The emptiness of the seats around him was unusual too. Although nothing could be done to prevent the public coming in to this hearing to see justice being done, every effort had been made to make the case appear as uninteresting as possible, from the way it had been listed amongst the other court proceedings to its 'coincidental' scheduling at the same time as a libel hearing involving a minor celebrity whom Brass had hardly heard of and Grissom certainly wouldn't have. Even the majority of the court reporters from the local press were absent because they knew that, for some reason, their editors wouldn't be running any story they might produce from this particular hearing. Looking behind him Jim could see only one person holding a notebook. Idly he wondered if the woman hadn't got the message from her boss or if she was simply the only one who suspected that this story might soon turn into something big enough that even the Sheriff's not so subtle influence wouldn't be able to suppress it any longer.

Nudging the case of paperwork he'd brought with him with his foot to double check on its presence, Jim returned his gaze to the front of the court where a rotating version of the Department of Corrections' logo currently occupied the screen where Grissom's image would shortly appear.

A few moments later, Grissom's attorney, John Morgan, hurried into the court, nodding to his client's friend in acknowledgement before moving to take his place. The screen flicked over to show Grissom's tense features just as the request to stand rang out and the judge entered the room.

"I have examined a number of reports regarding the crime with which Dr. Grissom has been accused, his record while in prison, his health and also his personal circumstances, I have decided that I am not prepared to release him on his personal recognizance. There are too many questions regarding his mental state to allow me to be fully confident that Dr. Grissom will present himself at court at the appropriate date and time and in a fit state to participate in proceedings. I do not believe that there is any financial sum that I could set as a bail amount that would satisfactorily guarantee this either.

Brass winced, he'd thought that the bail amount set might be pretty high, but the papers he had with him set out his and Grissom's total assets in great detail and he'd thought he could show that, between them, they were good for quite a reasonable amount. For the judge not to suggest any figure at all, not even a deliberately inflated one, was devastating.

Clearly Grissom felt it even more than Jim. Up on the screen his magnified image had its eyes shut and he appeared to be doing his best to control his breathing while the tip of his tongue occasionally showed briefly as he tried and failed to moisten his dry lips.

Clearly the judge liked to indulge her own sense of drama, even if she didn't approve of it from the lawyers who appeared in front of her. She took a moment to observe Grissom's reactions before resuming.

"However..." Brass and Grissom's heads both snapped back up at the word and the latter opened his eyes, just the tiniest flicker of hope showing in them as he swallowed hard.

"...I am required to consider releasing the defendant on 'the least restrictive condition, or combination of conditions' that I consider will guarantee his appearance and the safety of others. I have little doubt of the latter issue and nor, apparently does the District Attorney's Office, which has been uniquely silent on the subject of Dr Grissom's bail application. With that in mind I have spent most of the last week considering what the most appropriate conditions might be.

"Is Captain James Brass present?"

"I am Your Honour, Jim responded, a little surprised, but quickly rising to his feet. The judge beckoned him forward.

"I believe you are here to offer guarantees regarding bail monies?"

Jim nodded, "Yes ma'am."

"So, having come here prepared to risk your finances on Dr. Grissom returning to face trial. Are you also prepared to risk your reputation and possibly your career?"

"Your Honour, I do not believe there is any risk involved. Doctor Grissom is a man of honour, I have no doubt that he will appear."

"Do you have a guest room?" The sudden change of tack caught Jim off guard, but he managed to confirm that he did before the judge felt it necessary to repeat her question. He also admitted to living in a quiet area and having a small back yard as her questioning continued. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Grissom becoming more and more confused. He felt more than a little perplexed himself.

"Excellent," the judge commented before addressing herself to the camera directly above the video link screen.

"Dr. Grissom, while I am not prepared to release you on your own recognizance, I am prepared to release you into Captain Brass' custody. You will also obey the following restrictions; you will reside in the Captain's home and will remain under curfew there between 7.30 p.m. and 7.30 a.m. You will not be required to make regular attendance at a police station, instead you will meet with a court appointed psychiatrist a minimum of three times a week and continue with any medications currently prescribed to you unless that psychiatrist authorizes a change.

"Captain Brass," she continued, turning back to face the detective, "do you understand the repercussions for both of you if you do not ensure that Doctor Grissom obeys these restrictions and attends court as required?"

Brass agreed that he did.

"Good. Normally your home would be inspected before Dr. Grissom's release but I think we can skip that in your case. However, before you take custody of him I insist that you meet with his prison psychologist and discuss his condition with her. I am releasing him in the hope it will improve his mental health, I don't want to hear that, when he does report to court, he has been found mentally unfit to be tried. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Honour." Jim replied, and that was pretty much it.

Once the final formalities were complete and the judge had left the room, John Morgan approached Brass.

"Well, that certainly wasn't as straight forward as I'd hoped but at least he's going to be out of there soon. I'm going to go and talk to Grissom now and make sure he managed to keep up and understand everything that's been arranged.

"I'll have my assistant contact the prison about getting an appointment for you to see the psychologist as soon as possible and then you'll hopefully be able to bring Grissom away with you immediately afterwards. Once that's arranged he'll call you.

"In the mean time I suggest you do whatever you need to in order to make your place suitable for your new house guest. I'll make sure you've got a plain English guide to Grissom's restrictions and the details of the psychiatric appointments by the time you go out to the jail but, if there's anything you're unsure about, feel free to call me at any time." Morgan finished with a smile; he was clearly pleased with the outcome.

Jim was a little less sure. It wasn't that he wasn't glad Grissom would soon be out of prison, far from it, but he wasn't happy that he would effectively be becoming his friend's jailor, even if the regime would be rather more relaxed than before. Then, suddenly, his sense of humour kicked in and he began to see the funny side of the judge making him responsible for Grissom's behaviour when only a few days ago he'd admitted to David Hodges that he might have been willing to help Grissom abscond before his trial, if only he'd thought Gil would go along with it. With that thought he managed to return Morgan's smile and shook his hand before leaving the court.

As he headed to his car he was already making plans.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Following his guide down the grey corridor to where Grissom was being processed for release, Brass had a lot on his mind. His meeting with the prison psychologist had left him with serious concerns which had only been mitigated slightly by a follow up session with Paul Anderson, who had at least been able to give him some practical advice on dealing with Gil instead of merely reading from a file and dropping in terms such as 'institutionalization', 'risk of self harm' and 'dissociative behaviours'. He had tonight and the next two off according to his roster, but he'd have to work out how much vacation time he could afford to take over the next three weeks. Grissom's curfew would keep him from going out during Jim's night duty hours, but that didn't mean Jim wanted him to be left alone, at least until he knew how he was coping with his new circumstances.

As he was ushered through the door, Jim was greeted by the sight of Grissom. His friend was dressed in the clothes he'd been wearing when he was first arrested, and their loose fit made him appear even gaunter than the last time Jim had seen him face to face.

Gill was currently positioned with his hands clasped behind his neck and one foot lifted to rest on a bench while a GPS tracker was locked into place around his ankle. His eyes were closed tightly and his lips compressed together as though it was taking a massive effort of willpower simply to remain still. Even once the tracker was in place and Gil was told he could relax it seemed to take a minute for the permission to register enough for him to get both feet back on the ground and let his hands drop to his sides.

Wanting to allow his friend time to gather himself, Jim turned to the guard who appeared to be in charge. "I'll be taking charge of Mr. Price once he leaves here. Is there much more that needs to be done before we can leave?"

"Not much... Captain Brass." The uniformed man answered, consulting his clip board to check Jim's name. "Your ID was confirmed when you came in so, once we hear from the monitoring centre that they can see Price's tag and it's showing the right location, there're only a couple of forms you both need to sign. After that he's your problem."

The 'phone in the room rang at that point and Jim actually heard Grissom jump at the sudden sound. The man Brass had been talking to raised his eyebrows in a 'see, I said the tracking centre would call' sort of way and then reached to grab the handset.

A few words later the guard nodded at Jim and hung up.

"OK, seems everything's working. Price!" The guard beckoned Grissom over before continuing. "I'm supposed to remind you that the tracer is there only to confirm that you are sticking to your curfew. Because of that it will only be monitored during your curfew hours and, for your privacy will not be checked up on during the day. However, if you break the terms of your release it can then be used at any time of day in order to find you so that you can be returned to custody." Grissom nodded in acknowledgement but remained silent. Jim wondered just how many ways to nullify the tracker Gil could think of straight off the top of his head. Not that he'd actually use any of them of course.

At last the paperwork was produced. Jim added his scrawl to the sheets and then passed them to Grissom using the excuse of pointing out where his friend need to sign to remind him that the documents were in James Price's name and needed to be signed as such. Jim had asked John Morgan about the relative validity of each of Grissom's signatures and the attorney had made sure that there would be no legal repercussions for Grissom if he used the 'wrong' signature on occasions like this, but matching the name he wrote to the one on the document would save a lot of problems both now and possibly in the future if Grissom ended back here for any reason.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"OK, let's get going." Jim headed down the steps into the prison parking lot, carrying Grissom's belongings for him in a couple of plastic bags. His personal vehicle was parked a few yards from the bottom of the steps, he'd left his work vehicle at the PD garage because the last thing Gil needed was to ride out of here in a department issued cop car, even if it was unmarked. He was already close enough to his car to have clicked his electronic key when he realised that Gil wasn't behind him.

Looking back he could see the figure of his friend standing at the top of the stairway, he was completely unmoving and Jim couldn't even persuade himself that Grissom had been distracted by the desert sunset, it had taken longer than expected to get to this point, and the sun was already below the horizon, although the intense artificial lighting that surrounded the prison kept the night at bay.

Continuing to his car he slung Grissom's bags into the trunk and grabbed one of the items he'd picked up from Gil's home earlier that day. Heading back to his friend's side at a slight jog he noted that Gil was shivering before he carefully wrapped the padded jacket around Grissom's shoulders. Leaving his arm there after he had finished he uttered a gentle "come on now" before he steered the trembling man back to the car.

The coat had been a good idea on his part. Grissom had been in prison for over three months now and the t-shirt and khakis that had been fine for walking the dog in the city on a sunlit summer's morning were totally inadequate for the chill of a desert night in fall. Even if there hadn't been a practical value to it Jim hoped that Gil would get a psychological boost from the warmth and the awareness that someone cared enough to have thought about his needs.

Jim settled Gil into the passenger seat. His friend still hadn't spoken and hadn't even made the effort to slip his arms into the jacket's sleeves. Jim was concerned about the lack of interaction but his priority was to get Grissom home, there would be some flexibility on the start of his curfew tonight because everything had been arranged so slowly, but they still needed to make the effort to get back to Las Vegas quickly and directly. He could worry about Gil's mood later. However there was one thing he wanted to do first.

Gil jerked a little as Jim took hold of his left hand, the unexpected physical contact coming as a shock to him. "It's OK Gil, nothing bad is gonna happen, there's just something I want to take care of." Reaching carefully into his jacket with his free hand he produced his pen knife. Seeing Gil's face he tried to soothe him. "It's only me remember. I'm not gonna hurt you." Carefully he opened the knife and moved it towards Gil's wrist. Careful to work so that a sudden movement from Grissom wouldn't result in either of them getting cut, Jim smoothly slit off the plastic ID band that still encircled Gil's left wrist just above his watchband.

Grissom looked at him with an expression of horror, although he still didn't say anything.

"Hey, it's OK; you're not required to wear it now you're with me. You need to start letting go now. You're Gil Grissom, not 'James Price', you never were. You have to concentrate on being you now. That's important. Now, let's get out of here and leave 'Prisoner 4929' behind."

"'I am not a number, I am a free man.'" Gil spoke for the first time since Jim had arrived and even managed to make his first sentence a quote, even if he didn't appear too sure about the second part. Jim grinned at him and was rewarded with a wan half smile. Turning the key in his car's ignition he turned the car around and accelerated out of the lot heading towards the beacon of light that shone from the apex of the sleek black pyramid of the Luxor hotel casino on Las Vegas' famous Strip.

**A/N** Guess what? I don't own the TV series _Prisoner_ either.

I found out last week that this story has been nominated in the WIP section of the '2008 CSI FanFic Awards'. It was definitely a 'colour me stunned' moment (I also don't own BtVS), especially when _Cottonwood House _got an angst nomination a couple of days later. Having seen the competition I'm not expecting to get anywhere, I'm just thrilled to bits to have the acknowledgement.

I'm also get pretty excited every time someone writes a review. ;)


	29. Price Fixing

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 29**

**Price Fixing**

It was too quiet for Jim.

Last night he'd managed to get Gil home and safely into his house within minutes of the start of his curfew. Grissom had remained taciturn throughout the evening, but the detective had put at least some of that down to his friend still trying to process everything that had happened over the course of the day.

Jim's suggestion that they celebrate by having some food delivered had been greeted by a shrug and a muttered "whatever you want", but he'd gone ahead anyway, ordering Chinese food, the old lab favourite. He'd selected Grissom's preferred dishes from memory, hoping his friend's tastes hadn't changed and grateful that the task of clearing out Grissom's fridge meant that at least he knew meat remained in Gil's diet. Either that or Hank was even more spoilt than he'd first thought.

While they waited for the meal to arrive Jim had kept Gil busy by giving him a tour of his home, even though his friend had visited the house many times and even spent the odd day sleeping in the guest room. The only reference made to the fact that Gil was forbidden to leave the property for the next several hours had been when Jim had let him know that his small back yard was included in the curfew area although the front was not. Apparently outdoor space was included in such arrangements whenever an enclosed space was available, which explained one of the judge's questions. Jim still found it amazing that the tracker could be so accurate. In fact, according to the technician who had called to check that the actual boundaries of Brass' home matched the information on the map, it would have been possible to track Gil's movements from room to room inside the house if that had been required.

The evening had come to an early end after Grissom had used his prison schedule of eating and going to bed early as an excuse for leaving most of his food and not wanting to sit and watch TV or a movie with Jim. He'd taken his medication in front of Jim and then gone up to bed not much after nine-thirty.

Jim, who normally followed a very different routine, had stayed up a several hours longer before heading for his own room. Because of that he'd been expecting Gil to be up well before him in the morning, but there had been no sign of him.

It was well after Gil's curfew time had ended and, at first, Jim thought that he might have taken a walk. He'd been mildly concerned by that, he'd wanted to be with Gil when he first went out to make sure he could handle things OK. Plus, even if he didn't intend to be over zealous about the whole custody thing, he should have at least a rough idea of where Gil was at any time.

When Jim had gone to see if the spare set of keys he'd given to Grissom were where they'd been left, he'd found that both they and the internal bolts of his front door were still in place. The bolts on the door to the back yard were still locked too, which meant Gil was almost certainly still indoors.

It was 11.30 a.m. now and Jim was standing outside the door of his guest room. Even if Gil had been enjoying the luxury of a lie in on his first morning of (semi) freedom it was fourteen hours since he'd gone up and five since the time he'd have woken up, according to the prison schedule Paul Anderson had given Jim. Surely Gil should be awake and, after managing to eat so little the previous night, hungry, by now.

Jim raised his hand to knock, not wanting to remind Gil of his role as jailor but too concerned to leave it any longer.

As the sound made by his knuckles travelled into the room beyond he heard a scuffling noise. The speed of the response showed that Grissom was already awake, but there was no verbal response.

"Gil, it's me, I'm just wondering how you're doing, pal."

Still no reply and the other noises had stopped too.

"Gil? Look, it's OK if you're not feeling too sociable right now, buddy, but I need to know you're alright. So, unless you say something I'm gonna come in now. OK?"

Still there was nothing.

Carefully, Jim edged the door open. His police instincts wanted him to keep close to the door frame and conceal himself from the person inside the room until he knew better what the situation was, but he knew that Gil was neither armed nor dangerous. If his friend was upset or frightened in any way then the sooner he saw it was just old Jim coming in to talk to him, the better.

"Hey, how're you doin'?" Jim made himself sound as cheerful as possible. "I was wondering if you were feeling hungry yet."

Grissom was standing with his back to the far wall and was holding his hands like a perp. waiting to be arrested.

"Gil, I think you might be taking the 'Captain Brass' custody' thing a bit too seriously. As far as I'm concerned as long as you stick to your curfew, attend your appointments and put up with my company the first few times you leave the house then you can pretty much do as you please. I certainly don't expect you to wait in your room until I come and fetch you."

Grissom just looked confused.

"This isn't a prison, Gil, and I'm no prison guard. See, I'm not even carrying my cuffs!"

It was meant to be a light hearted quip, but Gil actually dropped his gaze to Jim's belt.

Brass did a slow turn that showed neither his handcuffs nor his gun holster were currently attached and, once he was facing Grissom again, was pleased to see that the man's hands had dropped to his sides. The scientist then walked gradually forwards until Brass stepped out of his way to show him that he was free to go through the door without hindrance. Then, suddenly, his pace quickened and, by the time he dived into the bathroom, Gil was almost running.

The sound of the flush a few minutes later made Brass even more aware of how much he was going to have to deal with. His home was small and there was no separate bath attached to the guest room, yet Grissom had been too caught up in his prison mind set to leave the bedroom and make the short trip down the hall to attend to his needs, even though it seemed they'd become quite urgent. It seemed that the psychologist hadn't been joking when she'd mentioned institutionalization and that made Jim worry about how true the other things she'd mentioned might be too.

"I'm going to get some fresh coffee going. Join me in the kitchen when you're ready and we'll see about putting some brunch together." Jim called through the bathroom door and got an almost inaudible agreement from inside.

As he headed down the stairs Brass was relieved that he'd avoided putting jeans or any other clothing in grey or blue when he'd packed an overnight bag for his friend. 'James Price' would be haunting Gil for a while and Jim didn't want to give him any more help than necessary by giving his friend the option of recreating his own version of the prison uniform.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

At least Grissom's self imposed incarceration that morning had one positive effect, thought Jim. He was watching his friend polish off a large plate of scrambled eggs and crispy bacon before reaching for his third slice of wholemeal toast. Grissom's second tall glass of orange juice stood beside his plate.

"So, Gil, normally you're going to have to see the psychiatrist Monday, Wednesday and Friday but it was too short notice for them to fit you in today and you've been excused. That means we can pretty much do what we want until Monday.

"I thought that maybe we should just take it easy for today." Brass continued when Grissom didn't seem to want to make any suggestions. "We could just get you out for a little while, maybe go to your place and collect more clothes and toiletries for you and anything you want to help you pass the time while you're staying here. After that perhaps you'd like to go visit Hank?"

Grissom hastily put down his toast and stared at his friend.

"Visit Hank? No. No, Jim, I can't, I couldn't handle seeing him with his new owners. It wouldn't be fair on Hank either, or the new people. I remember what he was like when Sara first left, if he's been the same since I've been gone then they might just be getting him to settle down. It wouldn't be fair to throw all that away just so I could see him for a little while. He's just a dog; you can't explain to him that I'm only there to check on him before I disappear again, probably for good. I'm amazed that the new family would even consider the idea and I'm even more surprised that you know where they are. I asked you to take him to a re-homing charity for a reason, Jim, I wanted him well away from here so he wouldn't be reminded so much of his old life and he could forget me and be happy."

Jim was making placating gestures as Grissom seemed to be getting more and more upset.

"Gil, Gil, calm down, it's OK. If you think it's a bad idea to see Hank right now you don't have to. But there is something you need to know. Hank doesn't have new owners; he's still your dog. I didn't put him up for re-homing."

"So, w-what d-did you d-do with him?" Gil seemed to have been intending to say more but stopped, maybe because he'd started to stutter. Jim noticed the stammer too and remembered that Anderson had told him it was a 'tell' that Gil was starting to become over anxious. Quickly, he began to explain what he'd decided to do about the dog.

"Listen, Gil, I had every intention of doing what you asked, although I didn't like it. I understood your concerns about having someone from the lab take him, although there were offers. I knew how high the sitter's bill was for the few weeks she'd been taking care of him before you made your bargain with the DA and I realised you couldn't afford that or a stay in kennels for very long, so I did start researching re-homing charities. I wanted to make sure I found a good place that made a real effort and doesn't put the animals to sleep if they don't find a place for them quickly. While I was doing that I came across an alternative. It's an organization that arranges fostering instead of adoption. They work mainly with animals whose owners are suddenly hospitalized or have to leave the country at short notice. They'll take care of cats or dogs for up to a year so that their owner can take them back whenever they're able to and all they ask is a donation of whatever the owner can afford. Hank's waiting for you when you're ready Gil and, in the mean time he's in a family home not a draughty kennel."

Gil seemed to be trying to find the energy to get angry. "Jim, that would have been a great idea, except I wasn't going to be out in a year's time, was I? In fact I probably still won't be. In case you've forgotten I'm standing trial for murder in just three weeks time, they don't sentence you to a year or less for that you know. You should have done what I asked. All you've really done is make Hank have to deal with two new homes when he could have just have had one."

Gil drew in a shuddering breath and dropped his head into his hands. On this occasion Jim managed to spot his friend's distress in time to bite back and control his own angry response to Grissom's negativity.

"Gil, I know you're concerned about your dog and frightened about the future, but you need to calm down and listen, I had good reasons for my decision and you need to hear them. I always found it hard to believe you could commit the crime you were accused of even if the tough guy cop in me had to at least allow for some kind of major break down on your part. The more I saw and heard the more sure I became of your innocence. When I found out about the fostering option for Hank I jumped at it. It gave me a year to do whatever I could think of to prove that innocence and get you freed from jail, and in just three months I have you here, sitting in my kitchen. Yes, I know it's not over yet," he added hurriedly before Gil could interrupt, "but we're well down the road. I know you're trying not to let your hopes rise too much but don't convince yourself there's no hope at all. I wanted to make sure that Hank would still be around when you got out, because I could see how he kept you going when Sara left. Having him to take care of meant that at least you had to go home from work occasionally."

Jim didn't mention the arrangement he'd made with the dog sitter so that she came up with plenty of reasons why she couldn't keep Hank for days on end. He'd had to pay her something towards the lost work, of course, but it had been worth it.

"I did consider the worst case scenario too, in case you were wondering. Even if I didn't get you out of there I thought it only fair to both the dog and Sara that she should have the option of taking Hank if you couldn't keep him. The year was to give her time to get in touch with us as well. OK?"

"OK, Jim." Grissom fell silent again and Brass tried to bring him out of his thoughts by bringing the topic back to their plans for the day.

"Well, how about we just start by visiting your place and decide about anything else afterwards."

Grissom quietly assented with a sigh.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Half an hour later they were in Brass' car again; waiting to pull out of an intersection.

_At least it's a start_, thought, Jim as he looked across at the man who was sitting in the passenger seat beside him. There was a strange combination of fear and fascination on Gil's face as he observed the traffic around him.

Jim had been relieved not to have to physically escort his friend to the car like he'd needed to the night before, although Gil had made his way from the porch to the vehicle in a peculiar hunched run which might have been normal in the middle of a rainstorm or possibly a fire fight, but had seemed quite odd on a quiet, cloudless, day.

Until Grissom saw the court psychiatrist and Jim spoke to him about his suggestions on how to help his friend, the best therapy Jim could think of was to try and bury the convict that was James Price and bring back as much of the old Gil Grissom as he possibly could. Taking Gil to the familiar surroundings of his home was the main strategy and Hank had been intended to follow up by reminding his 'Dad' who he used to be in that unique way only a dog could.

Still, Jim could understand Grissom's reasoning that it was probably best for the hound if he didn't see his master until the two could be together permanently again, so he'd abandoned that plan and was now seeking another one. Getting another glimpse of his friend's profile as he checked for traffic coming from the right it came to him. The beard had been grown to differentiate between Grissom and Price, therefore the follow up plan became the demise of one goatee beard ASAP. Now Jim just needed to work out how.

**A/N** Just a quick mention of the fact that the release of the final nominations list for the CSI FanFic awards 2008 has now been postponed until the 2nd September. Voting will start then too.


	30. Price Increases

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 30**

**Price Increases**

By the time Jim reached Grissom's front door his friend was already there. Another frantic dash from the security of the car to the shelter of the doorway had left the more relaxed detective trailing well behind.

As he approached, Jim could see that Gil was running his fingers over the door like a blind man a confused expression on his face. While the door fitters that Brass had hired had done their best to match the original style and colour it hadn't been possible to get it exactly right and the difference was clear. Jim suddenly remembered that he hadn't told his friend that he'd had to buy the replacement.

"You'll want this." Jim handed over the new key. Grissom's own set, which included the old one, was still hanging from the fingers of Gil's right hand and it looked as though the changes to his door had made Gil forget he was carrying them.

"Apparently it never dawned on the guys from Henderson to ask if they could borrow a key when they wanted to search your place. Pretty dumb really, it's no wonder they arrested the wrong man." Jim tried to fill the silence as Gil fumbled to let them into his home.

"I'm afraid the door to your chemical storage cabinet got the same treatment. I didn't arrange to have that fixed yet, I didn't want to waste your money on a secure cabinet instead of a plain one when I wasn't sure if you'd need it again."

Grissom just nodded absentmindedly. So far he'd made it just far enough into his house for Jim to be able to come in behind him and disable the alarm before it started to sound. He didn't seem to know what to do next.

"Why don't you just wander around for a bit, maybe visit with some of your insect friends?" Jim suggested, hoping that Gil wasn't going to announce that separation anxiety was just as severe for cockroaches as it was for dogs and that he couldn't face seeing them either. Instead, Grissom started to nod, before a puzzled frown caused his eyebrows to draw together.

"Why are they still here? Did you ignore everything I said to you about disposing of my pets and other stuff?"

"Only most of it." Jim responded with an apologetic smile and hands half raised in contrition. "I tried to with your bugs. I called the entomologist you wanted me to but she didn't have space for your entire collection. Instead she took the ones that needed the most specialist or regular care and left those that could cope with attention every other day or so here with detailed instructions on what I need to do for them. If necessary she'll take more as and when she can, but in the meantime I've been doing the best I can. Nothing has died except for a couple of little critters your friend told me couldn't be expected to live that long anyway. You'll have to tell me whether I managed to keep them in decent condition. Why don't you grab some food for them and go see? I have to make some calls to fix up some more time off, so I'll leave you for a little while to get used to being back."

Jim headed back outside to use his cell, his own keys to the house safely in his jacket pocket.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It took Jim quite a while to make his calls. As well as dealing with various different departments within LVPD in order to set up his leave and arrange cover for all but the most necessary court appearances he'd also checked in with Grissom's lawyer, John Morgan.

Quietly opening the front door he slipped inside. Walking softly he crossed the room towards where Grissom now stood peering through the glass doors at the back yard beyond. Gil's right hand hovered over the handle of the door but didn't quite touch, although Jim could see that the door key was already in place.

"I haven't done anything to take care of it." Jim spoke quietly and apologetically, hoping his friend wouldn't be frightened by his sudden reappearance.

"Shouldn't need to. It's xeriscaped and this is the desert, there's not much to do when it comes to gardening. That's why I had the Japanese Zen garden created. It works with the surroundings and, instead of gardening I can go out and rake the sand. It can be very restful." Gil's voice was wistful.

"So why not do that for a while?" Jim asked. "We're in no hurry to be anywhere else and you've hardly been outside since you were released. You are allowed to go outdoors, you know, or don't you want to?"

"I don't think I do," came Grissom's response, although he continued to stare longingly at the yard.

"That's not how it looks from here." Jim was pressing now. "I'm confused, Gil, you were always such an outdoors kind of guy and now suddenly you're not. I thought that after being locked inside so long you'd be desperate to get out there under..."

"That little tent of blue which prisoners call the sky." Gil slid in to complete the sentence before Jim could. Suddenly Jim realised why Gil hadn't been startled by his approach, Grissom was observing him via his reflection in the glass. Now his friend had apparently spotted the mystified expression on Brass' face. He turned round to face Jim properly at last.

"Oscar Wilde, _The Ballad of Reading Gaol_," he supplied, just the twitch of a smile on his lips, even if it didn't seem to be a happy one.

Jim returned the smile. "I should have known you'd have a prison quote to throw at me sometime. Come on, instead of staring out there why don't you sit with me for a minute and tell me why you think you don't want to go out when it's pretty obvious that you do."

Once they were seated Gil went into what seemed like a complex routine of stroking and touching his beard, face and hair as he tried to prepare himself to talk to Jim. Jim in the meantime was trying to find a compromise between leaning forward and looking like he was ready to perform an interrogation and leaning right back in his chair with his fingers steepled as though he was pretending to be a psychiatrist.

Eventually both men settled. Hesitantly Gil tried to explain why he was suddenly agoraphobic, mentioning how the events in the exercise yard had played a part in the assault which injured his face. How his cell had become so associated with safety that he'd found it hard to leave there at all and that going out to exercise was the worst of all. He finished by explaining how Paul had been going out to the yard with him to encourage him to stay out just a little longer each time he went.

"I can do that." Jim offered earnestly. "I'm more than willing to take time to get you used to being outside again, Gil, but how about we leave it for now and maybe try it when we get back to my place? The yard there is smaller and more enclosed and we can even leave it 'til after dark so you can teach me some astronomy or something. It might help you distract yourself."

Gil smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, we could give that a try; remind me to bring a couple of books and maybe my astronomical field glasses when we leave."

"OK," Jim was grinning now. "So, now I know a walk in the park is going to be a little too much for today, how about we stay here for a while longer. It's more open than my place so maybe I could invite..."

"NO! No parties, Jim, I..."

Now it was Jim's turn to interrupt.

"Gil. I've known you long enough to know how much you hate parties. You've always been the first to offer to cover so other people can go to the lab's Christmas get together and I remember the fourth year running that you left your own birthday drinks session saying you had a migraine. Cath was so angry with you that she went after you to tell you could at least make the effort to come up with a different excuse each year. She came back to our table looking very sheepish and told us she'd found you outside emptying your stomach and that she was going to drive you home. We just took you out for breakfast on your birthdays after that." Jim smiled gently at his friend, showing his acceptance of Gil's idiosyncrasies.

"I was going to suggest we invite Catherine. Maybe she'll take pity and bring us some nice food, and maybe David Hodges as well, unless you wouldn't feel safe having him around without a thick layer of glass between you?

"Now there's an idea!" Brass continued, his face broadcasting the fact that he was only joking. "We'll invite David, and then make him stand outside in the back yard and you and he can talk to each other on your cell 'phones looking at each other through the glass door."

Gil managed a smirk at that and Jim added, more seriously, that Hodges had been very worried about Grissom and that he really thought the man deserved the chance to check on Gil's wellbeing in person.

Finally Grissom agreed to the two guests but insisted there be no more.

"And tell Cath I'll still eat pretty much anything, but if she can avoid soup and sandwiches I'd appreciate it."

"OK, I can do that. Look, I put the water heater on when we arrived, how about you take a shower while I make the calls, maybe do something about that beard before they arrive." It was a subtle start, but Jim was moving on with his scheme to get rid of all trace of James Price.

"My beard?"

"Yeah. I know John Morgan wants to be able to use your reputation as a forensic scientist at your trial and he'd like you to look as much like your old self as possible by then. Besides," Jim continued, deciding to use Gil's insistence on the negative view to support his argument, "You need to keep 'James Price' available in case you need to conceal your identity at some point in the future but, if you're caught on camera like that by the reporters covering your trial, everyone will know it's just Gil Grissom's new look."

Grissom still looked doubtful; maybe he felt he needed to hide behind the overgrown goatee for a while longer.

"Will you just think about it?"

"OK." With a non-committal movement of his shoulders Grissom turned and headed down the stairs to the master bedroom and the bathroom beyond.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Gil still hadn't emerged from his bedroom when Jim answered the door to David Hodges.

"He's struggling to adjust right now, David, I think I'd better go check on him. Would you mind letting Catherine in if she arrives?"

Hodges agreed and Jim moved along the short corridor leading to the master suite. Calling his friend's name he used his knuckles to rap on the frame of the slightly open bedroom door.

Hearing a muffled response Jim pushed the door further open. Looking around the room he spotted a white undershirt, blue button down shirt and a pair of jeans, but not Gilbert Grissom.

"Gil?"

"In here." The muffled response came from the closet, but Grissom didn't appear to be coming out.

"Are you going to join us sometime soon? David's already here and I don't suppose Catherine's far behind."

"I'll be right there."

Jim was getting tired of addressing a disembodied voice. He wandered closer to the closet.

"Are you OK in there?"

Gil must have realised that Jim wasn't going to leave without seeing him because, finally, he stepped out into the bedroom.

Grissom was wearing a robe but his legs were bare and Jim's eyes were drawn to the black band of the GPS tracker locked around his ankle. Seeing where his friend was looking Gil took a rapid side step so that his lower legs were hidden from Jim by the bed.

"Don't tell me you're embarrassed about wearing that." Jim said, annoyed with himself for having drawn attention to the device.

"Not embarrassed exactly. I moved because it seemed to be bothering you. I do wish it wasn't there, though."

"I can understand that, but if you're worried about looking like a jailbird then maybe you should reconsider this little ensemble." Jim indicated the clothing that lay on the bed. "Try and find something a little brighter, hey Gil? Maybe a shirt with bugs on it or something?"

"Yeah, sure, OK." Grissom answered running a hand over his still damp crew cut and causing it to lift into tiny spikes. "That's not my problem with this thing though," he continued, sitting on the bed and running his finger just inside the ankle band of the waterproof device where it had been left a little loose to avoid constricting his circulation. "It just niggles. I'm constantly aware of it. It kept me from sleeping most of last night. I guess I've become over sensitized." He snorted a half laugh. "Every time they chained or cuffed me it felt that little bit more constricting and the nightmares got that little bit worse. I suppose you could call it a very specific form of claustrophobia to go with the agoraphobia." There was another half laugh.

"I'm pretty messed up right now, aren't I, Jim?"

"Maybe, but you were always a little, err, unusual?" Jim now understood the expression and body language of his friend when the anklet had been fitted the previous day and why Grissom's wristwatch had seemed so loose when he'd cut away the ID bracelet. Becoming more serious he continued addressing Gil.

"Look, I really think you should take the opportunity to discuss this with the psychiatrist when you see him."

Grissom looked dubious.

"You're going to be spending three hours a week with him; you might as well get some use out of the time. Paul Anderson helped you, didn't he? Maybe this guy can too. John Morgan reassures me that you'll have full patient doctor confidentiality, only your attendance will be reported to the court."

"Can I worry about that on Monday, please, Jim? I have today to cope with right now." Brass nodded understandingly in response.

"So, are you going to let me finish dressing now? I may even tidy this up if you let me get on with things." Gil indicated the hairs on his chin and smiled his best endearing half smile.

Jim agreed and left the room, just as the doorbell was ringing to announce Catherine's arrival.

A short while later, as Jim and David sat at the kitchen table watching Catherine organise the items she'd brought with her to make the four of them a meal, Gil finally made his appearance.

It seemed he'd taken Jim's suggestions to heart. He hadn't quite persuaded himself to part with the goatee completely, but it had been trimmed very short, presumably to help the whiskers he'd left unshaven on his cheeks and jaw line to catch up. He'd also restored the old clean shaven spot beneath his lower lip and given his moustache a neat trim.

Even more notable was his clothing. The red sweatshirt was more wine than scarlet but it was an obvious effort to look brighter on Grissom's part. It even had insects on it. Ants, probably, though no doubt Grissom would be able to say which specific species. There were lines of them forming the numbers in the logo for "Bugology '98". He was also wearing a very creased looking pair of chinos.

Suddenly Jim realised why he'd discovered Gil in his closet, he hadn't been hiding, he'd been digging into the depths to unearth clothes that he'd last fitted into nearly ten years ago. Jim had realised that his friend had lost weight in prison, but only now was he beginning to realise just how much.

Gil had always possessed a young/old kind of face, boyish looks balanced by eyes that could sometimes give the impression of a knowledge centuries old. Now, despite the additional grey that the last three months had added to his hair, whiskers and even complexion, he still managed to give the impression of an anxious new kid on his first day in school, his eyes large and a little frightened looking in the nests of deep wrinkles surrounding them. Even the scar on his cheek could have been evidence of some mishap at recess.

Catherine's maternal instincts made her heart clench at the sight of him standing awkwardly just inside the doorway. Quickly turning down the heat under the pan she'd been stirring she went towards her friend. Gently she reached to hug him, prepared to step back as soon as he tried to shrug her off, but wanting to offer the comfort anyway.

To her surprise Grissom didn't try to move away. Instead he leaned into her, letting his head drop forward onto her shoulder.

_I'm sure he'd rather Sara was doing this_ was Catherine thought, as she tightened her hold, _but in her absence I'll do the best I can. _She cursed herself for not being there for him sooner. Being taken off the case should have been her opportunity to start fighting for her friend, instead she'd been working so hard at being neutral and ignoring her natural instincts with regard to Grissom that it had taken until Jim had sat her down and forced her to look at the case again before she'd realised what she should have been doing all along. The only thing she could think of that was positive about her behaviour was that, if she hadn't taken a back seat she'd have gone over the top the other way and, if she hadn't ended up losing her job, she certainly wouldn't have been allowed to spend time 'consulting' Grissom while he was in jail or at the crime scenes he'd been brought to.

As she held him close, Catherine felt Grissom's body spasm against her once, twice, as though he was starting to sob, but there were no accompanying noises and, when he finally lifted his head and stepped back a little, there were no visible tears. Gently she shifted to stand beside Gil and slipped her arm around his waist, using it to guide him to the table where she seated him between Jim and David.

"Lunch won't be much longer," she smiled, "Pasta Bolognese, I had the sauce in my freezer, but I assure you it was home made originally." She paused while Jim and David made appreciative noises, and then added, "By my Mom."

"Eat as much or as little as you'd like, Gil," Catherine said a few minutes later as she placed his plate in front of him. "There's plenty for all of us to have extra if we want it. If you don't want much then concentrate on the meat, you've lost a lot of weight very quickly and it feels like at least half of it was muscle. You need to build that up again."

Gil smiled and nodded, he had to agree. Not only had he found it difficult to eat while in prison he hadn't been doing much exercise either. While the clothes he was wearing said he was the same size has he had been a decade ago, the reflection he'd seen in the full length mirror made it clear that he hadn't miraculously regained the muscle tone that he'd had back then. In his early forties he'd simply accepted his physique as a lucky side effect of the physical aspects of his work both as a CSI and as an entomologist both of which kept him physically active whether he was looking for clues or insects. Plus he genuinely enjoyed being outdoors which led to his possession of something that was rare among the small community of people who work permanent night shifts - a healthy tan.

The muscle tone had already begun to slip as his promotion forced him to spend more time sitting behind a desk but now it was gone almost completely and Gil doubted he'd even be able to lift the case that held his kit let alone carry it very far and his tan had gone the same way. The latter would quickly return under the right circumstances but, now that he was into his fifties, Gil knew it would take real conscious effort to regain a decent level of fitness. That was probably the least of his concerns right now, but he could certainly follow Catherine's instruction to start the work by getting some protein into his system. Still he couldn't resist the fresh green salad that sat in a large glass bowl in front of him, and the strong scent of the garlic bread that also appeared to accompany the meal was hard to resist after the bland diet he'd had for the last few months. Soon Gil was tucking in with the best of them and Catherine had to suppress a relieved grin when she noticed it.

The conversation over the meal was awkward at first, especially for David, but Catherine and Brass were used to Grissom not being overly talkative and soon managed to make the atmosphere more relaxed.

Once it was discovered that Gil hadn't had access to TV, a radio or even a newspaper for the last few months they decided to help him 'catch up' with the news. Not the big boring stories though, but the ridiculous stuff like the guy who thought kite surfing in a hurricane would be fun and the current contenders for the 'Brass Award for the Most Ridiculous Excuse to Hold a Convention in Vegas' for that year. Mostly Grissom just smiled politely and got on with his food, but a genuine Grin did occasionally make its way onto his face and he almost managed to laugh when Hodges suddenly burst out with "Look! I did it! See you guys, I actually made him smile!"

Eventually everyone was done and Catherine took command once again.

"OK, Jim, you start making the coffee. Hodges, you can load the dishwasher, and Gil, you can help me with some stuff I've got in my car."

"Cath, I'd rather..."

"Come on, it's just a little light carrying, you're going to have to start getting those muscles back sometime."

"Cath, I'd really rather..."

"Why don't you let David help you Catherine?" Jim interrupted before things went any further. "Gil can start off gently with some bending and stretching while he loads the dishwasher." He accompanied his suggestion with a look at the red head which he hoped would warn her not to push things any further. It seemed to work with a shrug she led Hodges back to her car.

By the time the table was clear and the coffee was on its way, two boxes were sitting on the table.

"OK, Gil," said Catherine, taking the lead once more. "This is where we hopefully achieve two things at once."

"First, I hear that, however many times you're told, you still won't allow yourself to believe that we have enough evidence to clear you of this murder. So I've bought everything I possibly could that is related to the case so you can see as well as hear it and have it all in one place. This is all stuff John Morgan has been able to ask for under disclosure and, while I obviously couldn't bring the actual physical evidence out of the lab I do have copies of every single photograph and report.

"Now, you can either go through this stuff for yourself or, if you don't feel up to that you can sit here and watch and listen while Jim, Hodges and I go through it in an attempt to sort out the one problem I think we do have. Don't worry, it won't affect our ability to prove you innocent, it's connected to our chances of getting the right person punished for Laura McCain's murder."

Catherine now switched her attention to Brass and Hodges. "You see I'd like you two to help me. I'm certain I know who's responsible for the killing but we're going to need a warrant to compel samples of DNA and prints to be able to prove it, so I need you guys to help me find enough stuff here for me to be able to go to a judge and get a warrant for..."

She paused for dramatic effect giving Jim and David just enough time to be ready to say,

"...Doctor Vincent Lurie" at exactly the same time she did.

To her credit Catherine managed not to show her disappointment at the lack of impact from her announcement. Even Grissom seemed to be expecting the name.

"Well, I'm glad we're all agreed. I can see that you two would follow the same path I did, but why aren't you surprised Gil? After all you've helped catch hundreds of felons in your time, why would you suspect one of the few that actually managed to get away?"

"I wish I could say I worked it out using good scientific methods," Gil responded, rubbing a hand over his forehead, "but basically, right from the moment my mind started to drift I started getting a repeat of something that used to happen during the Marlin case. I'd look at Debbie Marlin's body and then the features would morph into Sara's. Even when the body had been removed from the scene, if I tried to visualise what had happened I'd see it as Sara almost as much as I was seeing it as Debbie.

"Since I saw Laura McCain lying dead the memory came back, only this time there would be a progression, Debbie Marlin lying dead, Laura McCain lying dead and, finally, Sara lying dead too." Grissom took a deep breath and turned his gaze towards the ceiling for a few moments as he pushed away the emotion that went with his recollection. "I put the thoughts aside as just my brain looking for something to feed on in order to create nightmares, but when you mentioned Vincent Lurie just then it certainly wasn't a shock."

The reassessment of the evidence went steadily although Grissom didn't say much. His eyelids began to droop less than an hour after finishing his coffee and a short time later his head rested on his arms.

Jim didn't worry too much, there could be many reasons why Gil was behaving like that, the meal being larger than he had become used to, the unaccustomed company, he'd also been warned that both Gil's depression and the antidepressants that he took for it could both make his charge more sleepy than normal. The discussion of the problem continued at a slightly lower volume until Hodges, who had been glancing at Grissom from time to time slid a note across the table suggesting maybe they should wake him and encourage him to go and lie down.

Brass nodded and was about to rise when Catherine raised a hand to stop him. She too scribbled a note and placed it for the two men to read as she continued the discussion on the evidence.

_Unless he leaves the room or actually starts snoring_, she had written, _we should assume he's awake and listening even if he doesn't appear to be_.

It appeared that the experience Catherine had gained over many hours of sitting in lab layout rooms going over evidence with Gil and various other members of the team was correct. As they came back to the same point for what seemed like the tenth time Jim stood up.

"I really can't see how we can do this," he said, wandering over to Gil's coffee machine to pour himself another cup. "Lurie's managed to make himself unassailable; we just can't get through his defences."

"Then stop trying."

Gil's head had lifted just far enough that his voice wasn't lost in the folds of his sweatshirt sleeves. Now, slowly, he began to sit up properly as he continued.

"If you can't find a way to get direct to Lurie, try going through someone else. Look for the weaker link."

When his audience just looked at each other, Gil leaned back further in his seat. Looking up at the ceiling he sighed tiredly before continuing.

"Try the attorney."

"Surely he's going to be able to protect himself as well as Lurie is. It's not like he isn't smart and he knows the law."

"Lawyers generally do, but even the smartest ones are better acquainted with the rarefied atmosphere of the courtroom than dealing with criminal acts face to face. I'm sure Catherine remembers Roy Logan's lawyer."

"The guy with the helium and the bunny mask? How could I forget? I'm seeing what you mean, Gil, but what about client-attorney privilege? We'd need to get a judge to agree that it should be waived, which just brings us back to square one."

"I'm sure John Morgan can help you out with the crime-fraud exception, but that will come later. I'm not talking about Andrew Mason, Lurie's lawyer; I'm talking about his cousin, Alexander, the guy who 'persuaded' my original defence attorney to screw up my case. You can have a free run at him, because we have a witness to testify that he definitely did something wrong, and there's no confidentiality problem, because I was the client."

"That's all very well, Gil," said Jim, returning to his seat beside his weary looking friend," but, John Morgan negotiated with the Bar Association to delay their action to protect your identity and keep Michael Greene safe so he can testify at you trial."

"To be honest, Jim, I can't bring myself to really care about whether Greene is safe or not. As for my identity, you've seen what this has done to me. If I have to go back to prison _I_ won't know who I am, so I won't care who else does. If I don't go back then I'll still be in danger from Lurie unless he can be caught and put away for what he's done. That leaves us little choice.

"Now," he continued, heaving himself to his feet, "I need to go lie down for a while. Wake me when you're ready, Jim, I'd appreciate your help in choosing which things to pack and take back to your house, multiple options confuse me so much these days."

Briefly thanking David for coming and Catherine for arranging the excellent meal he left the room, heading towards the master bedroom once again.

**A/N** Just a reminder that the voting period for this years CSI FanFic Awards is now half way through so, if you're planning on voting for this or any of the other nominated stories, please don't leave it too long.


	31. All for One Price

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 31**

**All for One Price**

Familiar position, unfamiliar room. The ceiling he was gazing up at was pale blue not stark white and the wall beside him was covered in paper instead of tiles. The bed he was lying on was more comfortable than what he'd become used to and had a thick comforter in a dark blue cover over the sheet instead of a single blanket. It was queen sized too, a vast improvement on a narrow bunk. He should be able to fall asleep so easily, even if his eyelids hadn't already been drooping after the exertions of the day.

Instead he stared at the ceiling.

His attempt to nap back at his own place hadn't worked out well. He'd left Jim talking to David and Catherine knowing that his friend would let him sleep for as long as possible before they had to pack up and leave, but had woken less than an hour later to find Jim calling his name and his legs tangled in the sheets. That restriction to his movement was probably what had triggered the nightmare whose remnants still lay at the periphery of his brain.

He hadn't been prepared to go back to sleep immediately after that, so he'd persuaded Jim to help him gather together some clothes to take back with him.

It hadn't been as difficult as he'd expected, simply because he no longer had many clothes that fit him properly, giving him far fewer options to choose between. Gil may have been a hoarder when it came to books, but he wasn't where clothes were concerned. He'd had a clear out a few years back and, having finally admitted the inevitability of middle age spread, the only clothes he'd kept from the last time he'd been so thin were souvenirs of teaching stints and conventions like the 'Bugology' one he'd dug out to wear after his shower. Not that that really mattered, baggy was OK as far as tops were concerned, the real problem was his lower half. Only two pairs of pants that he had still fitted him without the waist line drooping loosely from the belt loops. One of these was the chinos that had been rescued from the charity bag by Sara for reasons that Gil had refused to give to Jim.

He sighed, remembering. He'd never really understood Sara's interest in his rear, the part of his anatomy that she had felt the pants displayed so well. Still, considering the state of the rest of him, he doubted that even that looked particularly attractive to anyone right now; it even felt bony to sit on.

The only other pair of pants that were still fit to wear was part of a suit that had hardly been worn and which Grissom had deemed too expensive to just dispose of. Still, at least that meant he'd have something decent to wear for his trial. In the mean time it had become apparent that it would be necessary to buy at least one additional pair of pants and some underwear which wouldn't have a tendency to head south whenever Gil stood up. For now even that small errand had been filed as something to face 'another day'.

By the time they had got back to Jim's modest home carrying a holdall of clothing, a smaller bag of toiletries, including Gil's beard trimmer after several reminders from Jim, and a cardboard box of books, CDs and other items that might work as distractions for him, his astronomical field glasses carefully packed amongst them, Gil had been exhausted.

He'd tried valiantly to stay awake until a reasonable hour, staring blankly at the book of crosswords that had left prison with him, but had eventually had to give in. He'd waved off Jim's suggestion of a light supper despite having eaten nothing since the late lunch provided by Catherine. The two large meals he'd had that day had been most welcome after his time on a prison diet, but the unaccustomed volume and the sudden change in his routine were collaborating to make his stomach feel quite uncomfortable by now.

Jim had relented but made him promise several times over that he would leave the guest room and raid the kitchen whenever he needed to. Gil had agreed that he would and that he wouldn't wait to be let out of his room the following morning either.

Gil sighed again and rolled onto his side, one arm curving around his noisily gurgling belly. He allowed his eyes to close at last, although the bedside lamp still burned. He had become used to sleeping with some light in the room; his cell had never been completely dark with nothing to block the harsh security lights outside the high window slit or the glow from the corridor which shone through the observation window, occasionally obscured by a guard using that light to check on him.

Steering his thoughts away from prison Gil considered what his friends had tried to do for him that day. Catherine's idea to show him all the evidence she could to try and convince him that he couldn't lose his trial probably made sense, it was just that, somehow, his thoughts didn't any more. However many times his logical, scientific side had gone over the evidence his attorney, Brass and Catherine showed him and had nodded sagely that he understood that they were probably right and reasonable doubt could be found, the other emotional, illogical, insecure, _depressed_ side of him popped up to stop him believing it. While that part of him still had its power there was nothing he or anyone else could do about it. He just wished they'd leave him alone to deal with it.

_Still,_ he tried to reassure himself as he turned his head to bury his face in the soft pillows; _at least I came up with something they didn't. At least there's a little part of my brain that might just be starting to work again._

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Jim finally poured himself a glass of Scotch. He'd waited for over an hour after Gil had climbed the stairs to the guest room before bringing the whisky out of its cabinet. While his friend's bail conditions made no reference to whether Gil was allowed any alcohol, the notes that came with his prescription did and, while Grissom probably would have been quite happy for Brass to drink when he couldn't, Jim wouldn't have felt right doing so.

As far as Jim was concerned it hadn't been a bad day, not least because, in admitting his fears, Grissom had opened up to him far more readily than Jim had ever expected. He was relieved by the trust in him that that showed, he just hoped he could capitalise on it in a way that would help his friend recover from his ordeal.

Earlier that day after Gil had disappeared to the master bedroom of his own house, the remaining three had talked for a while longer, mainly tossing around ideas triggered by Grissom's input to their debate. Once the dishwasher had done its job and delivered Catherine's food containers back to her she had excused herself and, for once, David had left of his own accord soon afterwards.

Jim had gone to check up on Grissom and found him mumbling in his sleep and moving around while he slept as though he wanted to take full advantage of being back in a king size bed

While Grissom's sleep did not appear very restful at least it was sleep of some sort. Brass had crept out, leaving the door slightly ajar, and tried to calculate the maximum time he could let his friend rest and still allow plenty of leeway to pack and get back to his own house before Gil's curfew began.

Unfortunately, less than an hour after he'd settled himself with an interesting history he'd found on Grissom's over stacked book shelves there had been a yell from the master bedroom. Rushing to find out what the problem was Jim had found a still sleeping Gil struggling against the bed sheets which appeared to have become knotted around him as he'd tossed and turned.

At first Jim had considered trying to untangle his friend without waking him, but he'd realised that he would probably get kicked pretty hard in the process. Instead he'd woken Gil so he could extricate himself. After that he'd been unable to get Gil to try to sleep again, but at least he'd headed upstairs of his own accord now.

Hoping that his friend would find peaceful rest for a few hours at least, Jim turned back to what he felt was the most important part of the day just gone, Grissom's input regarding the next step in trying to prove who really killed Laura McCain.

Jim took a longer gulp of his Scotch as he tried to figure out how he felt about what had happened. Of course he was pleased that they'd been able to witness a 'Grissom moment' thanks to Catherine stopping them from packing Gil off to bed too soon, but he had to admit he was irked that they hadn't come up with the notion of coming at Lurie via weaker links in the chain sooner. It was even more annoying to him personally because it was something he should have thought of. It would have been one thing if the famous Doctor Grissom had seen something in the evidence that had been missed before, but hadn't it been Gil himself who had stated frequently in assorted different ways – CSIs dealt with the evidence, the 'where's and the 'how's; the witnesses and the 'why's were a detective's job, and he hadn't done his.

Jim rose from his overstuffed chair and went to place his glass on the dining table on the far side of the room. From there he headed over to a cabinet from which he withdrew a ledger sized sketch pad and a number of coloured pens before returning to the table.

Despite the items he had laid out in front of him, Jim wasn't about to make any artistic efforts, although earlier he'd been tempted to produce a sign for the inside of his guest room door so that if Gil became disoriented during the night he would know where he was and that he could go use the bathroom whenever he needed to. Unfortunately Jim hadn't been able to think of a suitable witty slogan to use so, instead, he was going to concentrate on what he was good at.

Lacking a well equipped layout room or even a whiteboard, Jim used the paper sheet in front of him to draw out a diagram which he hoped would help him visualize the situation better. In the middle, instead of Laura McCain's name he wrote Gil Grissom's because that was the important shift he needed to make, Laura was collateral damage because, if his theory was correct, his friend was he true intended victim of this crime.

Brass had started with the paper aligned landscape style and now he spread the names of his four 'suspects' along the top of the sheet. First came Vincent Lurie, then Andrew Mason, Lurie's lawyer, followed by Alexander Mason, Andrew's cousin and a named partner in the legal practice that employed the final man on the list, Michael Greene, Grissom's former lawyer.

Wanting to emphasise the fact that these men had become involved in events in a specific order Brass drew large arrows showing the flow from Lurie through the two cousins and finally to Greene.

The next stage was to see how each man linked to Grissom and try and work out possible motives for them to harm him. The detective started with the easiest. Greene's connection with Grissom was that Alexander Mason had assigned him to Gil's case. His motive for harming his client was that he had been blackmailed, not because he had anything against the man, which was why he'd eventually crumbled and come forward to admit his part in what had gone on. All that was simple, now it got harder.

Even coming up with a sensible motive for Vincent Lurie to frame Gil was going to be a problem; it always came back to the same thing, why would Lurie feel the need for revenge? Any judge they approached for a warrant would want to know why, with all the people Grissom had been involved in punishing, Jim was pointing the finger at someone who hadn't even been arrested. The surgeon had suffered no repercussions from his involvement in the investigation into Debbie Marlin's murder, not even a suspension; there had just been too little evidence to prompt such action. Even if Lurie had come up with a reason to hate Grissom so much that he'd murder an innocent woman just to hurt him, why was this happening now? It was a good few years since the incident and, because there had been no court process to go through, Jim suspected that he'd have forgotten about the guy himself, if Gil hadn't made it more notable by deciding to pour his heart out in the middle of the interrogation room.

Still, that wasn't what he was supposed to be concentrating on right now. Gil had said go for the lawyer and that's what he needed to do, to find an angle on how to approach the Mason cousins. As Lurie's lawyer Andrew might have been pressurised into helping with the frame up, but how had he persuaded Alexander to take part, risking his career? Was it money, menaces or particularly strong family ties?

With another sigh, Jim finished his drink, but didn't go to pour himself another one, it was going to be a long night and he would need all his concentration.

**A/N** Once again I apologise for the long gap between chapters, it was caused by the usual pattern, physical problems last week followed by depression this week, but hopefully I'll be getting back to normal soon.

A big thank you to everyone who voted for me in the Fan Fiction Awards, I may not have won but I'm flattered by your support.


	32. The Price of a Man's Life

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 32**

**The Price of a Man's Life**

Thursday.

Jim sat in his office at the PD. It was his first time there since Grissom's release and he was taking the time to go through his mail and compose himself before heading down to the interview suite.

Gil was back at Jim's house with David Hodges to keep him company. The lab tech hadn't been Jim's first choice, but he had been Grissom's, whose face had practically lit up when Hodges arrived bearing a selection of differently themed chess sets to choose from. Brass had hoped that his friend wouldn't need to be 'baby-sat' by now but, in the end, it had seemed a wise precaution, not because there was any fear of Gil absconding, but because it had been a very up and down kind of week.

Friday had really been amazingly good and Jim now realised that it had probably lured him into a false sense of confidence.

When he'd got up on Saturday morning Brass had had plans to take Gil to a discount clothing store he knew. It wasn't just that Grissom needed some things in his newly reduced size but also because it would get Gil out of the house without forcing him to be outdoors very much and around people without having to interact a lot.

However, just like the previous morning, when Jim had got downstairs there was no sign of Grissom. When his friend still hadn't appeared a couple of hours later Jim had headed for the guest room, wishing that he really had got around to producing some kind of 'you can leave this room' poster the previous evening, although he was sure he'd heard Gil go to the bathroom at least a couple of times during the night.

This time, when he'd knocked and entered, he'd found Gil still in bed, asleep, curled into a tight ball and his face pale above the comforter. The sleeping man's face was contorted and his brow furrowed as though it was taking a huge amount of concentration just to remain unconscious. Despite this it had taken a while for Brass to waken him so he could check if there was anything seriously wrong.

Fortunately there hadn't been, it was just a combination of a minor stomach upset and simple exhaustion from the stress of the last few days, but it was enough to make Jim realise that maybe he was being over optimistic about the speed of his friend's recovery. Just as he had done when Grissom had been brought to the desert crime scene several weeks earlier, Jim found himself adopting an almost paternal role, treating Gil much like he used to treat Ellie when she'd been sick as a child and his shift pattern had meant it made sense for him to care for her instead of his wife. The most worrying thing was that his friend had let him do that without a single word of protest.

He'd encouraged Grissom to spend most of the day in bed, slipping out briefly while Gil was asleep to bring back ginger ale and a heat pad to comfort his stomach. He also picked up a few cheap t-shirts and a pack of cotton boxers. Pants were actually a more urgent requirement but that would need Grissom himself to select them and try them on before buying and at least getting the other things now meant that they would only have to concentrate on one or two items when he was able to persuade Gil to go to the clothing store with him.

Jim's ministrations had seemed to work and, by Sunday, Gil had been up and about again seeming a little brighter. He even voluntarily sat outside in a small patch of sunlight while Jim did a little yard work, although he never moved far from the door back into the house and moved back indoors as soon as Jim was done.

On Monday Jim had discovered that, apparently, you can drive a Grissom to the psychiatrist's office, but you cannot make him talk to the shrink. Still the important thing was that the register recording Gil's attendance had been signed. On arrival Jim had asked if it would be possible to speak to the psychiatrist himself about how best to help his friend and he was invited to join the session fifteen minutes before the scheduled hour was up.

Grissom had sat in silence as his care was discussed, which was apparently what he'd done throughout his time with the doctor. The psychiatrist had seemed unperturbed, telling Jim that the reaction was not uncommon in "involuntary referrals" and that the important thing was that, while the therapist was trying to establish a relationship of trust with his patient, Grissom had someone else who would support him. For that reason the psychiatrist would only speak to Jim about Grissom in his presence so that there would be no strain put on the trust he had in his friend.

Jim's request for advice on how to help Gil resulted in a straightforward recommendation that he should just take it easy, try to create a place where Grissom could feel safe and help him when asked, but otherwise not push him.

"Doctor Grissom has been suffering from an extremely deep and aggressive form of depression. Even though the antidepressants appear to have helped lift his mood, it's going to take quite some time for him to get back to normal. Considering that Doctor Grissom has to face the stress of his trial in less than three weeks we have to face the fact that, even with concentrated sessions, any progress is going to be limited.

"What I would like to try, unless Doctor Grissom objects, is to have you join us for the second half hour of our Friday sessions. Mainly I'm hoping that Doctor Grissom will be able to use that time to discuss what has helped him and how he wants the two of us to assist him in moving forward, but we can also use the time to see how you think things are going, and to ask me any questions you have. You might also want to act as a go between for any of Doctor Grissom's other friends who may have queries."

The psychiatrist then turned back to Grissom and told him he was free to invite anyone else to that session if he thought it would help. Gil had shrugged but not spoken. The hour had finished then and, seeing how tired Gil appeared despite his lack of contribution, Jim had driven them home, deciding that not pushing Gil probably meant he shouldn't press him about why he hadn't spoken to the doctor.

Tuesday had been a 'let's just try and do one thing' day and necessity had made the one thing clothes shopping. Gil had rejected Jim's choice of store, asking instead to be driven to the place where he usually shopped. There he'd grabbed three pairs of pants off the racks and flatly refused to try them on before he paid for them. It was only afterwards that Jim had realised that, even with the store's individual changing cubicles, Gil's anklet would still have been visible under the door as he tried things on and that was probably the last thing his friend wanted to reveal in public. Still, going to his regular store meant he'd been able to pick styles that had worked for him before and when he'd tried things on back at Jim's there were no major disasters.

As far as Jim knew Wednesday's psychiatric appointment had gone better but it had still wiped Grissom out for the day.

Now it was Thursday and Jim had his own appointment. Glancing at his watch he stood up and headed down to the interview room.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

'He who is his own lawyer has a fool for a client.'

Clearly Alexander Mason hadn't heard that saying, or at least he didn't believe it applied to him. _The arrogant ones never do_, thought Jim, as he took his seat across the table from the attorney. He was relieved he'd thought to make an effort with his own appearance as Mason was doing his best to declare his success as a lawyer in his own attire. Still, with a little luck, that expensive three piece wool suit would make its owner start to physically sweat at around the same time Jim made him do so mentally. Having Mason 'lose his cool' was probably Jim's best chance of succeeding in the interview.

"As I am here voluntarily," Mason began, making a pre-emptive strike, "I think I am entitled to ask why _you_ are performing this interview, Captain Brass."

Jim chose to ignore the stress on the word you.

"A complaint has been raised against you with the Bar Association. Their initial investigation has led them to believe criminal acts have taken place and requested that a detective from the Police Department take over the case."

"That still doesn't explain why I'm talking to you, Captain Brass."

Jim continued to 'miss' the real aim of the question.

"An accusation has been made against you, claiming that you used your position as a named partner to persuade or 'suborn', as I'm sure an attorney like yourself would say, your employees to provide a less than satisfactory service to your firm's clients and that, in fact, you even arranged for cases that would normally go to a partner to be assigned to these employees so that this could happen."

"That's ridiculous!" Mason feigned disbelief, "I'm sure any accusations have been made by a disgruntled employee and that they will disappear as soon as that person is asked to make a formal deposition." He was confident that, even though Michael Greene had left his firm he still had enough influence to scare him off.

"I'm sure it won't." Brass matched Mason's nonchalance easily. "The person who raised the issue I'm looking into with the Association has already testified in court regarding your actions, which lends a great deal of credence to the complaint. One of your clients has already waived his right to confidentiality in the interests of an investigation and your partners are so keen to have this cleared up that they are willing to speak to all clients whose cases have crossed your desk to see if they have been affected and encourage them to testify, should they have suffered as a result of your actions."

"I was asking 'why _you_?'" Mason insisted, trying to keep on track even though he'd blanched slightly when he heard that Michael Greene had already found the courage to stand up in court, something he'd been unaware of until now. "You are a homicide detective after all."

"Well," said Jim, leaning forward a little, "as a lawyer such as yourself surely knows, if an act of perjury results in an innocent person being executed, then the perjurer is considered to have committed murder. Now, I'm sure you would argue differently, but I would say that, extrapolating from that, if the perjury leads to someone being tried for a crime where the possible punishments include execution then they could be accused of attempted murder and subornation of such a perjury could be considered incitement to murder.

"Of course that's taking things to the extreme," Jim continued, making himself appear relaxed once more, "but I had a long chat with someone from the DA's office and it seems there are all sorts of possible crimes an investigation could reveal there's 'preventing or dissuading a person from testifying or producing evidence', maybe malicious prosecution if you're in this really deeply and I believe there could already be the option of conspiracy just on what we have already. After all, to make your subordinates do the dirty work, you had to talk to them about what you wanted done and you must have known your intentions even if your employees didn't."

That chat he was talking about had indeed been very long and interesting. The person from the DA's office had actually been Maddie Klein. She wasn't connected to the case but she'd called Jim's house wanting to know how Grissom was doing. Gil had been asleep, so she and Jim had chatted instead and Maddie had been very helpful once she knew why Brass was asking her those particular questions.

"Anyway," Jim resumed before Mason could interrupt, "as it happens I'm currently in a position where I need to take cases that I can work mainly from home. Going through your papers is going to be a very interesting way to spend my time."

"Which is exactly why you can't take this case!" Mason finally broke in, looking smug. "It directly involves a friend and colleague of yours. Dr. Grissom is such a close friend; in fact, that the reason you're working from home is because you've taken responsibility for him while he awaits the start of his trial."

"It's interesting that you know that," murmured Jim, making a note on his pad, "it's not something that's been widely publicised. In fact I don't remember saying that this had anything to do with Dr. Grissom at all. As it happens, I've been asked to explore _all_ your activities as a lawyer. Unless, of course, you're admitting that your actions were aimed _solely_ at depriving Doctor Grissom of an adequate defence?"

Jim halted for a moment, watching Mason think before picking the exact moment to point out that he'd already got what he really wanted.

"I think I've probably let you dig yourself in deep enough already. You clearly know precisely which incident was involved in the complaint about you, even though I've been deliberately withholding the details.

"You made a mistake, Alex." Jim took a little extra satisfaction in the way Mason winced at Brass' over familiar use of the diminutive of his given name. "You decided you could manipulate Michael Greene because you believed he was weak and inadequate, maybe you thought that because he never made it to partner. But maybe there was a different reason why he never made partner, maybe he had too much integrity, couldn't play against his own conscience. Maybe that's why he came forward, because he couldn't live with himself knowing he'd let an innocent man got to prison. Maybe he decided his career was less important than doing the right thing."

"Now," Jim went on, looking relaxed but with his mental fingers still crossed, "I should probably still go through all your paperwork and look to see what else you've been up to over the years, because I'm pretty sure I'd find all sorts of things that you've tried in the past which have given you the confidence to think you'd get away with this.

"The thing is; I'd rather be spending my time helping my friend deal with the repercussions of what you've done. So, I'm prepared to let everything else go in exchange for a full confession of what you did to Michael Greene and, through him, to Gil Grissom. There is one proviso," Jim added, holding up his hand, "if you're going to persuade me, or anyone else, that you only attempted something like this once then you're going to have to give me a full explanation of your motive, why you chose Doctor Grissom, here and now, not some time later when you've had time to think of an excuse."

Finally Brass sat back and waited. Would Mason take the offer? Would it give him what he needed to put an end to Grissom's torment?

It took a few minutes but, eventually, Alexander Mason came to a decision. Looking considerably less serene than he'd done when the interview began, he took a sip of water and then began to speak, but he didn't say quite what Jim had been expecting to hear.

"A few years ago your friend Doctor Grissom sat and ate with my cousin, Douglas Mason and his family, taking advantage of Doug's hospitality despite having accused him of murder, in his own courtroom, earlier that day.

"If your Dr. Grissom had been doing his job properly he wouldn't have wasted that time wouldn't have been forced to waste time sitting in a cell because he made so much fuss in court that Doug had no choice but to call him in contempt. Maybe if he'd done his job instead he'd have caught the real serial killer before my cousin Douglas became his next victim.

"I took Doug's widow and child in, you know? I took them into my own home after it happened. They stayed until his wife, Cheryl, decided they should move away altogether and start new lives outside of Nevada. I'm still paying Craig's school fees now, it's what Doug would have wanted but, thanks to Grissom yet again, I guess I'm not going to be able to afford to do that much longer."

Jim was aghast. He'd known that, with Millander dead and no legal action to take place, an arrangement had been made enabling the widow of his alter ego to maintain the fiction that her husband and Paul Millander were two different men. It had seemed no harm could come from allowing her to bury her husband as Paul Millander's final victim, saving her and her son from the notoriety of being the family of a multiple murderer and, very conveniently, avoiding any repercussions for the traffic cases 'Judge Mason' had presided over.

It had seemed a good arrangement. It saved Millander's innocent wife and child from persecution, it was true that Mason had been Millander's last victim because he'd committed suicide, and he'd actually been a pretty good judge, if you ignored the little matter of him selecting his victims using information he'd discovered about men who'd appeared in his courtroom.

Still, nothing had ever been very simple where Millander was concerned and now it became obvious that he hadn't chosen Douglas Mason as an alias for nothing. It had given him an instant family, one with a long history of providing lawyers and judges in Nevada, giving him a head start in his chosen career. He'd clearly managed to convince Alexander Mason that they really were related and probably Alexander's cousin Andrew believed it too. Millander's wife, Cheryl Mason knew the truth, Brass had been there when she'd been told, but clearly she hadn't been above using Millander's lie to make sure her son didn't lose out. Jim sighed, He hoped Craig had a part time job, because he suspected that the cash flow from 'cousin Alexander was about to come to an abrupt halt.

Sitting back in his chair, Jim stretched out his legs before him, crossing them at the ankles. Folding his hands together in story teller mode he settled himself.

"I take it that Douglas Mason was quite a distant 'cousin' of yours?" he began.


	33. Knock Down Price

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 33**

**Knock Down Price**

"Hi, come in!"

Brass' welcome was warm as he stepped aside to allow entry to his home. Greg followed, looking around the narrow hallway and taking in the palette of warm dark colours that adorned the walls. It was his first visit to Jim's home and he was surprised to see how unconventional the choice was, at least for a city with as warm a climate as Vegas.

"Al and Gil are in the living room, but I could do with a hand in here, if you don't mind?" Jim had pushed open a door in the side of the passageway and through it Greg could see the more expected pale colours of a kitchen.

"Yeah, sure. I bought these with me by the way, just some snacks and stuff." He held up a brown paper bag.

"Excellent," Jim nodded, "you can add them to those." He nodded to one of the work surfaces where a stack of dishes lay next to a small pile of packs of chips and bread sticks together with a couple of dips. "Fill up a few dishes with an assortment then put 'em on that tray over there while I make a little something for Gil."

Greg set about his task. He felt a little disconcerted. When Jim had called to invite him he'd admitted that the gathering was an attempt to help Grissom. Apparently Griss had admitted to feelings of anxiety around people and Jim was trying to give him a gentle reintroduction to being amongst a group by getting a couple of friends who he hadn't seen recently over to visit. The hope was that, by taking small steps, Grissom would gradually become confident again.

Greg had felt honoured that Jim had chosen him. It seemed the detective felt Greg was a good choice because he had the kind of personality that could fill a room but he could also be trusted to tone his ebullience right down when necessary, for example if he saw that things were getting too much for his old boss.

Greg, who was aware that any extra maturity he'd developed recently was a result of having his own bad experience with the legal system had been flattered and more than willing to take part in the small gathering.

Now he knew that the other guest was Doc Robbins, probably selected because he too had a whacky, larger than life sense of humour but could switch quickly to a more serious demeanour when his duties as coroner required it. The problem was, Greg felt a little out of place, he hadn't socialized with these three men before without having at least a couple of the younger guys around and, let's face it, he was young enough to be the son of any one of them and, frankly, he felt like the odd man out.

Brass clearly hadn't reached the rank of Captain of Detectives for nothing. Despite apparently concentrating on his own task he had clearly detected the brief pause in activity from Greg as the younger man's thoughts drifted.

"I'm glad you could make it, Greg." He said reassuringly, "I really need today to work for Gil, I have some stuff to tell him which isn't too good, so I want him to have a good time first so the day isn't a complete write off. If anybody can lighten up a meeting of old fogies like us it's gonna be you."

"I dunno. Rumour has it that Grissom and the Doc were once sighted playing air guitar together prior to performing an autopsy. I've never even seen him do anything like that. I'm more likely to make him hold back. You guys are his equals, he can relax around you. I'm not just younger than him, I'm his subordinate. He likes to keep a distance, you know?"

"Right now he's nobody's boss. He needs all the friends he can get, Greg. You didn't see the state he was in when he first arrived at the desert body dump they forced him to attend in full convict gear. The consideration you showed him that day and the way you managed to keep him focused and functioning really impressed me. You've been a good friend to him Greg and I wouldn't have invited you today if I didn't think you'd make a positive contribution.

"Now, how about you grab us some drinks from the fridge?" Jim moved the sandwich he'd been making onto a small plate as he spoke. "Al and I are on beer, Grissom's on soda and whatever you're having of course."

"I guess that'll be soda for me too, I'm working tonight."

Greg followed Brass who was carrying the sandwich and beers into the living room. Placing his own burden, the tray of 'nibbles' with the two cans of soda carefully balanced in between them, down on the table, Greg took a seat opposite Grissom and Robbins, beside where Jim was sitting.

Brass was serving Gil his sandwich and explaining to Al that Catherine was nagging him to build Grissom up, but Gil's stomach was finding large meals hard to cope with so he was trying to tempt him with 'little and often' instead. Greg took in the scene before him. Grissom did indeed look like he needed feeding up, but something else about his appearance was surprising Greg. It was like he was facing two brothers across the table. Robbins might have been carrying more weight and less head coverage than his old friend but, apart from that, the similarities were astonishing. Right now they both had identical short hair cuts and goatee style beards. Greg couldn't work out whether it was a result of the cut, a trick of the light or the result of the stress he'd recently been under but, right now, Grissom's hair and beard both seemed much greyer than when he'd last seen him, and parts of them seemed almost as white as the Doc's. Throw in two pairs of shrewd blue eyes, even if they were different shades and, if Greg hadn't known for sure that they had no family connection, he'd have been pretty sure they were closely related. Though, thanks to the careworn look Gil had, which one was the elder brother would have been harder to say right now.

At least the conversation wasn't as stilted as Greg had first feared. It took Grissom a little while to engage beyond listening quietly as the others talked but, slowly, he began to join in and now he was asking Greg if there had been any progress with getting him on a forensic entomology course.

"It's going slowly." Greg replied, with a wry grin. "Ecklie's realised that I could reach CSI 2 in a couple of months so, knowing he's going to have to give me a pay rise then anyway he's told Catherine she can't have a new CSI 2 to make the numbers up, she has to wait until I'm promoted and then she can have a new level 1, so she won't have enough cover to send me for a while. Plus Ecklie says I can't begin training in a speciality until I've 'shown the dedication' required to get to level 2."

That got a wry smile out of Grissom. "You can start training towards a speciality at any time. That's one of the things which you can add to the 'career development' section of your staff assessment form."

Jim smirked, for someone who was notoriously bad at filling out the forms on time; Grissom seemed to have a great deal of expertise in what to write on them.

"Ecklie probably thinks he's saving money." Grissom continued, speculatively. "He's forgotten that your existing qualifications mean you'll get specialist allowance as a DNA expert from the moment you get promoted. You should make sure Catherine is on top of that. You took a pay cut when you moved over from technician to CSI, getting your allowance will help make up for that. These allowances were brought in as a way to keep staff who might otherwise head for the private sector; you might as well take advantage of them."

"Listen to him, Greg," Jim interrupted, "he's an expert on speciality allowance, and not just as a supervisor. I remember my predecessor at the lab commenting on it when he was handing the job over to me. 'Watch out for Grissom,' he told me, 'that guy's too clever by half'. Come to think, I'm not sure it was just the effect of your PhD on the budget that he was referring to." He finished, grinning at Gil as he did so.

Grissom smiled back although the expression didn't last for long, his eyes quickly resuming their now habitual sadness.

A while later, when the topics of discussion were tailing off, Grissom prompted Jim to tell Al and Greg what he'd discovered during his interview with Alexander Mason.

"Paul Millander is connected to all this?"

"Yeah, and it wasn't what I was expecting to hear either, Greg."

"Nor me." Despite having already known what Brass had just said, Grissom was looking down at his hands where they rested on the table as though contemplating the news for the first time. "I thought his death was the end of it. It seems I was wrong."

"But surely there's something positive in Mason's admission? Now he knows that Millander wasn't his cousin maybe he'll be willing to give us more. And if his 'family connections' were his motive for hurting your case, Grissom, then they must be a possible motive for his cousin. Doesn't that mean you have a valid reason to question Andrew Mason now?" The last sentence was aimed at Brass.

Jim was sitting with his elbows on the table, his head rested in his hands. Now he raised it again, his fingers passing through his thinning hair. Glancing across the table and taking in Gil's demeanour he caught the eye of Doc Robbins before sliding his glance sideways to draw Al's attention to the Grissom's reactions as he started to speak.

"Yes, it does give me a reason to talk to him without being accused of harassing a witness, provided I'm careful about how far I go. I wanted to speak to Gil's attorney to get his opinion and any suggestions he might have, so, when Gil decided to take a nap before you other guys were due to arrive I took the opportunity to call him."

Jim took a large breath before continuing, expelling most of it in a frustrated sigh.

"Your lawyer's too good Gil," he began, trying to make his initial comments sound light. "He pointed a few things out and I'm afraid it's left me completely at a loss. I have an opportunity to question Andrew Mason, but I haven't the slightest idea what to ask him. I'm sorry Gil, I'm not going to give up on this, but right now I'm stuck."

Reaching over the table he placed his hand on Grissom's wrist to capture his attention, because Gil's eyes had lost focus and he was starting to tremble.

"Remember, these are just my efforts to confirm who framed you and therefore who killed Laura McCain, John Morgan is still convinced that there is ample evidence to exonerate you. You are not going back to prison, this doesn't change that."

It seemed that reassurance wasn't enough. Gil withdrew his wrist from Jim's grasp and staggered to his feet. Stumbling more than actually walking he exited the room, the creaking of the staircase gave away his escape route.

Jim rose, about to follow his friend, but Robbins stopped him.

"Let me, you've been coping with him for over a week now and you deserve a break. Besides, a new pair of ears to listen to his problems might help him too." Grabbing the crutch that had been hooked onto the edge of the table he heaved himself out of his chair. "At least he can't say I'm creeping up on him," he joked, "he'll know someone is coming and have time to compose himself a little before I reach him."

Once Robbins was out of the room, Greg broke the silence.

"So, what's the problem? Why have you reached a dead end? What's getting in the way?"

"The truth." Brass' reply was despondent.

"Even if we assert that Andrew Mason came forward to testify against Grissom for malicious reasons we can't deny that he's telling the truth. There is a second prosecution witness to Gil's comments in the interview room at PD and because Vincent Lurie was never indicted for the crime concerned he can say he has no reason to have anything against Gil. Not only that, I'm a witness as well and, if asked while under oath, I'd have to confirm what Gil said. Even if I didn't Gil would. We've already seen that he puts these things above his own well being, there's no way he'd lie. Even if Mason regrets what he's done, now he knows Millander wasn't a relative, he's been deposed and could be compelled to appear, although, like I said, the prosecution could still offer the same motive for Gil to have committed the murder without him.

"According to Grissom's attorney we can't even use the speed at which Mason came forward as proof of a conspiracy. It might be something Lurie could be questioned over, but Andrew Mason has the perfect excuse. If Lurie spotted the article in the paper and was considering coming forward then it would be perfectly reasonable for him to consult his attorney to make sure he wouldn't be at risk of damaging himself by dragging up the whole Debbie Marlin case again."

Jim took another slug of his beer, looking like he wished it was something far stronger.

"We can't even suggest there was a conspiracy between the Mason cousins, neither had a part in the arrangement between Alexander's firm and the lawyers that Grissom had been using for his will and, even if they had been, they couldn't have predicted that Gil would be so depressed that he just went with the flow and didn't try and find himself a decent defence attorney in the first place."

"There must be something." It was a statement from Greg, not a question.

"You'd think so wouldn't you? But right now none of us seems to be coming up with any ideas and the man I'd normally go to for new ideas just ran upstairs looking like he was gonna barf. I think Al will manage to calm him down quite soon, but getting that brain of his working back at its old level will take a lot more than the short time we have."

The two men lapsed into silence, lost in their thoughts.

There had to be an answer somewhere, hadn't there?

**A/N** I don't know why this chapter has been such a struggle, but I'm glad it's done. Unfortunately it will probably take at least as long for the next one to be ready because of some RL stuff I have coming up next week. Including having to be up at 5am Friday morning to watch the new season of CSI. ;)

BTW In the past some of you have asked how many chapters this story will go on for. Originally I intended 20, then it became 30 then 35. I'm currently four chapters behind the revised chapter plan, so maybe I'll be finished by chapter 40. I make no promises though. Maybe I should stop posting WIPs and finish my stories before I start to post in future!


	34. Price Management

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 34**

**Price Management**

Grissom was standing just inside the doorway of Brass' guest room when Al Robbins reached the top of the stairs. Silently he held the door open for the coroner to enter and waved him over to the room's single chair.

Al took in his friend's drawn expression and the way his shoulders slumped as he walked over to the bed and lay down, aiming his unfocused gaze at the ceiling. Although he couldn't know for sure Robbins considered it a safe guess that this was a position that Grissom had occupied many times over the last three months.

"Jim's right you know." The older man tried to reassure his friend. "All his investigations now are just a way of finding real justice for Laura McCain and making sure whoever killed her also pays for what he's done to you. With help from Henry in tox I've been able to show clearly that she was already suffering from an overdose of chloral hydrate when she arrived at PD. The injection only pushed her over the edge into coma. In fact she must have been given the original dose orally, while you were sitting in Jim's office in full view of anyone who walked past. That in itself has to cast doubt over the whole of the DA's case against you, and I know the others are equally confident of their own findings."

The piercing, pale blue eyes took in Grissom's closed expression and the way he was holding himself, as though only politeness was stopping him turning to face the wall and curling up into a tight ball.

That was exactly what Al's son had done in the past when Al's attempts at parenting ended up supporting the boy's theory that his father didn't understand anything. So, if that meant the theory they'd all been working on was wrong, it was time to look for a new one.

"But that's not what's bothering you, is it Gil?" Keeping his gazed fixed on his 'patient', the doctor leaned forward. "Care to tell me what is?"

No response.

"Gil, I know the others keep trying to show you the evidence in order to get you to understand that there is more that shows you're not a killer than there is to link you to Miss McCain's death, but that isn't the issue is it? Intellectually you understand what we're telling you, but something is stopping you accepting it.

"We all want to help you Gil, but you have to let us in. Even if you're not ready to tell anyone else, please speak to me. I promise you can have doctor-patient privilege if that's what you need, even though I'm not here in that role."

Al leaned back; he'd opened the door, now he just needed to see if his friend would walk through it.

The room was silent for a while, then there was a slight rustle as Grissom wriggled, changing his position on the bed until troubled deep aquamarine eyes finally met the pathologist's.

"It's just that it's been one thing after another, Al." Grissom finally spoke, although it sounded as though he was finding it physically difficult as well as emotionally so. "I can't even say when things first started to go wrong, every time I think 'that was it that was the moment'; something else takes it back even further, beyond even the point where I shot my mouth off in front of Vincent Lurie. Things have been going wrong for so long now I just can't believe that it's possible for them to go right any more. However much logic may seem to refute the idea, I can't believe that something won't happen in that courtroom which will result in me being found guilty."

Pausing for a moment to close his eyes and gather himself, Grissom continued. "I know Jim told you that the aim of today was to get me used to 'socializing' again, but all he knows really is that being around people makes me anxious. I'm not even sure why it does, but I do know why I'm anxious about being anxious."

He stopped again and smiled grimly at the doc, who looked back at him with kindness waiting for him to continue.

"Sounds stupid doesn't it? Being anxious about my anxiety? The thing is I don't know how to react any more, I can't trust myself to stay in control. When I walk into that room there are going to be a lot of people, not just the judge, officials, lawyers and jury but the media too, because any protection I've had from them so far will disappear. Every one of them will be looking at me, Al, and I think I'm going to panic. If I do my actions could be misinterpreted and they might decide to restrain me and, if they try to do that, I really would lose it. I'd certainly struggle hard and I'd probably hit out too. If the jury saw me behaving like that then I... I... I... I'm sorry."

Grissom ground to a halt, but it soon became clear to Robbins that he wasn't apologizing for the possibility he might overreact if someone tried to handcuff him again. Suddenly the reclining man sat up, his pallor taking on a greenish tinge, and he grabbed a basin which had been sitting on the nightstand. Holding it on his lap he leaned over it, his whole body hunched around the bowl.

Minutes passed. Although Grissom had looked as though he was about to be violently ill, nothing was actually happening. Gradually he seemed to gather himself, bringing his breathing under control before finally looking back up at Robbins an expression of embarrassment on his face.

"Sorry." He repeated once again. "Normally I only get sick when I have a migraine, but recently I get nauseated so often I wound up keeping this in my room because I'm frightened I won't get to the bathroom in time. It's also more comfortable than kneeling on the tiles for ages waiting for something to happen."

"And how often do you actually vomit?" Al was showing a professional interest as well as a deep concern for his friend.

"Actually, other than a couple of times just after my release, when I was having the stomach problem Jim mentioned, I haven't thrown up at all. Unfortunately the sensation is so real I can't ignore it." He gazed down at the basin which still rested on his lap before managing to lay it aside. "Sometimes it even wakes me up at night, but then everything does, when I actually want to be asleep."

"Yet you'd just woken from a nap when I got here. Are you doing that a lot?"

"Yeah," Grissom sighed, "I can't seem to stay awake for more than a couple of hours at a time during the day but can't sleep a wink at night. I wish I knew what was wrong with me."

"You've been ill." Robbins' face was sympathetic. "You still are. It's only a matter of a few weeks since you were depressed enough to be experiencing catatonic episodes and even though you've found a medication that works for you, you can't expect miracles, especially when you're still under so much stress. Nausea is a typical anxiety symptom and insomnia could be the result either of that or your depression. You've probably been sleeping at odd times for a while now but you probably noticed it less when you were in prison because you had nothing else to do and sleeping a lot passed the time.

"However, I realise your problems immediately after your release almost certainly did have a physical cause and, just because your symptoms could be explained by your mental state, that doesn't mean you can't have a physical problem too, so how about you lie back and let me take a look at you just in case? I don't have my kit with me, but an old-fashioned saw-bones like me can find out plenty just by looking and giving the odd poke here and there."

Acquiescing with a look of relief Gil lay flat on his back again as Al eased himself off the chair and came over to the bed. Asking Grissom to untuck his shirt the former family doctor leaned forwards and gently began to palpate his friend's stomach and abdomen.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Downstairs there was an awkward silence at first before Greg asked a question he'd wanted to know the answer to for some time.

"Jim, this witness statement that's causing all the trouble, what exactly did Grissom say? What was it that is supposed to be so incriminating? And why would he say anything like that? I mean this is Grissom, he's not exactly known for shooting his mouth off. Except perhaps when Ecklie drives him to it, of course." He finished with one of his familiar grins, clearly trying to use the Sanders' sense of humour to defuse the tension of what was an extremely serious conversation.

"Maybe it was a symptom of Gil's midlife crisis?" Jim responded with a wry grin of his own.

Greg half laughed but then changed his mind as Jim's look turned serious.

"I'm not entirely joking, Greg. The Debbie Marlin case hit him hard in all sorts of ways. He wasn't 'with' Sara at that point, but he was already more than half in love with her, even if he wouldn't admit it himself. When he saw how like Sara the victim looked he kind of lost it, only in a very Grissom sort of way. Started working triples, Catherine even had to remind him to eat. You guys at the lab and all my guys were running round in circles trying to get something, anything to identify her killer and that of her boyfriend once we established our main suspect was a victim too."

"I remember," Greg nodded, "DNA was literally a washout with all the bleach that had been thrown around. The best I could get was that our perp was not only balding but embarrassed about it and attempting to put off or at least conceal the inevitable."

"Unlike those men who are quite happy that their brains work so fast that they need a little extra ventilation." Brass touched his thinning pate for emphasis.

"Are you two discussing me in my absence?" Doc Robbins queried as he rejoined the group.

"I've left Gil to rest for a while, although he insists he'll be up again before Greg and I have to leave. His physical state means he doesn't have much energy at the best of times right now and the rush of adrenaline he had earlier has wiped out what little reserve he had."

"Is there anything more I could be doing for him?" Jim was full of concern.

"Keep doing what you're doing food wise, encourage him to 'graze' with regular light snacks instead of big meals. His nausea doesn't seem to have a physical cause right now, but it doesn't mean the sensation is any less real so it's hard for him to eat properly, just get what you can into him. I've suggested he speak to his psychiatrist about getting some medication for the feeling of sickness, but if he won't you could try him with an over-the-counter motion sickness treatment."

"And what about his sleeping?"

"It's not a problem as long as he really needs it. If he were physically fit it would be an issue, but he's not. By all means check on him if he's in bed so long you become concerned, but part of the reason he sleeps during the day is because he has insomnia at night and the last thing he needs is to make that worse by worrying about how much he sleeps the rest of the time."

The Doc stopped talking and his brow furrowed briefly as he reviewed what he'd just said to make sure it made sense. Deciding it did, he combined a shrug and a wry grin before resuming his seat at Jim's table and taking a slug of his beer.

"He's having a hell of a time of it, Jim, but you're doing everything you can for him, between taking care of him and working the case. I'm satisfied he's in good hands here.

"OK, now you've had my professional opinion, how about you tell me how you two ended up discussing the follicularly challenged? Are you worried that you're following in our distinguished footsteps young Greg?"

Greg was speechless with denial, shaking his head while unconsciously running his fingers over his still thick hair as if checking it hadn't suddenly vanished since he last saw his reflection.

Jim looked on in amusement for a moment before rescuing him.

"Greg and I were just reminding ourselves how Grissom came up against Vincent Lurie. Greg was still a lab rat then and not as closely linked to the investigation as I was, but he did manage to find out that our perp was using a combination of hair restoratives and thickeners. It was one of a number of circumstantial or inadmissible clues that all added up to Vincent Lurie being our chief suspect."

"Like my belief that the person who dissected the boyfriend was left-handed?" Robbins interjected.

"Right. Anyway, with nothing probative in itself I had no choice but to bring Lurie in for questioning and hope I could get something out of him that we could use. Unfortunately he managed to stay cool and his lawyer quickly worked out we had nothing more than a theory, which they listened too politely but then got up to walk out, knowing I didn't have enough to go for indictment let alone a trial. It was at that point that Gil started to talk.

"I don't want to go into too many details of what was said, Greg, Gil said some stuff about middle aged men and beautiful girls and the risks and benefits involved. I could tell he was talking about Sara, even if it was the first time I'd realised just how deep his feelings went. He'd be embarrassed to know I'd said much about it even to his friends and I'm going to be doing my damnedest to make sure it doesn't have to be gone through in court. I don't know whether it was frustration from the case, exhaustion or the pain from a migraine stopping him thinking straight but the parallels between Lurie's situation and his own had obviously hit him and, for once, he actually talked about it.

"He was obviously struggling with his own problems, but I wasn't able to talk to him at the time because I had to see Lurie and his lawyer out. When I got back Gil had disappeared. He was found a couple of hours later in an empty office nearby, practically incoherent with pain. I got him home but he wasn't up to talking about it then and when he was back to feeling like himself he'd started behaving like himself too, which of course means he clammed up entirely. I backed off at that point and the subject never came up again until this all started."

"Did any of what was said give Lurie motive to do this? What is it that has made you and Catherine so sure he's the one framing Grissom?"

"The answer to the first question is 'I don't know'. Gil's empathy technique might have worked in a different kind of interview, but not that one. The comments made may have taken away some of Lurie's feeling of triumph at getting away with a double murder, but he still got away with it and it's hard to believe an ego the size of Lurie's received more than a temporary dent from the experience, or at least that's what I would have said until all this began to happen. As for your other question, you'd have to ask Catherine for her views. In my case it's mainly gut instinct, that old cop thing Grissom would tell me off for relying on, but there's plenty of other stuff too.

"Our friend Vincent always came across as very controlled. He obviously felt some things very strongly or he wouldn't have resorted to murder, but he was then able to step back and carry out his plan with absolute precision, there was no sign of panic or frenzy in anything he did, a surgeon thing, I suppose. Whoever carried out this vendetta towards Gil is also someone _very_ cold blooded. As far as we know Laura McCain did nothing to deserve her fate. To be prepared to kill an innocent stranger to achieve revenge takes an incredible amount of anger and yet there must also have been the ability to remain completely cool. Laura's resemblance to Debbie Marlin and Sara, the only thing that seems to have sealed her fate, obviously points towards Lurie as a potential suspect as does the intelligent planning and medical knowledge required, plus the origin of Laura's friend's cab journey at Desert Palm."

Jim stopped to think again as Greg and Doc Robbins considered what they were hearing.

"Really the biggest thing pointing me towards Lurie is the nature of the crime. If this was your average perp wanting to get their own back, then they'd have gone straight for Gil as soon as they could. The person who did this has been thinking about it for some time harbouring a grudge and imagining ways that could hurt Gil far more than a physical injury ever would. That says we should be looking at someone Grissom came across years ago."

"Wait!"

Greg had thought of something.

"This time lapse, if we weren't focussing so much on proving that Lurie did this, wouldn't we be looking at people who had just been released form prison, or hospital, or just got back from some place else where they couldn't get to Grissom before?"

"True, but it's only because we're looking at Lurie that we know there has been a lapse of so long. I did do a trace of recent releases and escapes connected to cases Gil was involved in, but only a couple fit the profile and they could be rejected for other reasons."

"So, why did Lurie wait? Has he been out of commission?"

"Not as far as I can tell. No criminal record and the only hospitals he's been in are the ones he's been working at and there's no sign of a break between contracts."

"So why now?" Al joined the debate in his deep baritone. "Has there been something that might have triggered his behaviour? I would say we need to think about something that occurred a few months before the McCain murder, giving him time to make his preparations."

They were all silent for a while considering various scenarios.

"We need to think about what motivates Lurie." Greg stated. "What did you say his motive was for killing Debbie Marlin and her boyfriend?"

"Jealousy. That's why he killed the boyfriend, Michael Clark, as well as Debbie herself."

"In fact he was more angry at the boyfriend," Robbins added, "Debbie's body had been posed but was relatively unviolated. Clark on the other hand had been neatly dissected in a process that must have taken hours. That shows a huge capacity to maintain a level of hatred above and beyond anything you could possibly call 'normal'. In most cases, once the initial adrenaline from the act of murder has drained away then the motivating factor for the murderer ceases to be anger and is replaced by fear of being caught and any activity would be expected to focus on avoiding capture. From what you say Lurie did more than enough to cover his tracks and carving up Michael Clark just wasn't necessary for that."

"So," said Greg, speaking slowly as he tried the thoughts out in his head before uttering them, "not only is Lurie a jealous guy, he gets jealous to the point it overrides what you'd expect to be a normal reaction. Maybe we're making a mistake? We keep saying that the motive for framing Grissom is revenge, but then we can't really see what Lurie would want revenge for, if you never even go far enough to arrest him and he hasn't suffered because of the investigation. So, maybe we should forget revenge, maybe we should look at Lurie's big motivator? Maybe Lurie did this because he's jealous of Griss?"

"Why would he be?" Brass asked. "They're both successful middle age men at the top of their fields, if anything Lurie earns more than Grissom because Gil's income is based on public service pay scales. They're both single, childless..."

"Exactly!"

The two older men jumped as Greg raised his voice in triumph at his sudden realization.

"Grissom's single _now_, but he wasn't at the beginning of the year. He was with Sara. And who does Sara look like?"

"Debbie Marlin." Brass was reliving Grissom's soliloquy from the interview room one more time and things were falling into place. "When Gil talked to Lurie years ago he was comparing the different paths their lives had taken because Lurie had taken a chance and he couldn't bring himself to. But, eventually he did make that choice and Lurie found out about it. When he realized Grissom was happy and with a woman who resembled the girl he himself had lost, Lurie must have seen red, or rather green, and decided to ruin it all."

"But how did he find out? There was such a short length of time between Griss and Sara's relationship becoming public knowledge and Sara leaving and if he'd only found out after she left surely he wouldn't have got so upset."

"It was all over local TV, Greg." Brass wasn't being patronizing, he knew that Greg had made a point of being available to sit with Sara in the hospital whenever anyone managed to physically drag Grissom away long enough to eat, shower, sleep and make sure his dog didn't pine away from lack of attention. Unlike Gil, Greg hadn't been given compassionate leave to enable him to be with Sara, so the young man had been doing his usual shifts as well, he probably didn't get chance to see the news at all in the initial period after Sara's abduction and he probably had no idea how much coverage there had been. "Lurie must have found out that way. Of course there were no headlines when Sara walked away from it all and when Lurie did find out he was probably already in too deep to give up on the idea, otherwise he'd most likely just have taken great pleasure in noting that, when Gil finally decided to take the risk, he ended up losing too.

"I know, I know," Jim continued, holding up his hand to avert an angry response from Greg, "Sara didn't two time Gil and she left because she needed to, not in order to hurt him. But he still got hurt, maybe more so because it had taken him so long to trust, to believe, that she wanted to be with him and that she wasn't going to walk away when a better alternative came along, which Gil didn't think could take very long, he never considered himself worth of her. Even if she comes back I don't know if he'll be able to regain his belief enough to take the risk again, and that's ignoring his current state of mind.

"Still and I never thought this was something I'd say, it was probably a good job she did leave Vegas."

"Why?" Greg looked puzzled, despite the remnants of anger in his brown eyes. He was still conflicted about what he felt was Grissom's part in Sara's departure, even though he'd laid it aside as he witnessed his former boss' suffering; he just couldn't comprehend that there could possibly be anything good about Sara not being there.

"Well," Brass replied, "now that I look at this whole thing using your theory that jealousy is the motive I'm even more certain that Laura McCain was collateral damage. I suspected it before, but now I'm absolutely certain. If Sara hadn't left Gil when she did then she would have been Lurie's victim and we wouldn't be trying to save our friend upstairs from life in prison, because there would have been nothing of Gilbert Grissom left to save."

**A/N** I'm sure you've already heard my excuses for being slow to update far too often so I won't repeat them here. I am doing my best to post as often as I can but some chapters take so much more time and energy to produce than others. Anyway it's here now. :D


	35. Agreed on Price

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 35**

**Agreed on Price**

"Let me get that."

John Morgan indicated to the female bar tender that she should refill his own glass too, the twenty sitting in the tip slot before him ensured that they were served quickly and efficiently.

The bar was softly lit, not Vegas strip club dark. Close to the courthouse it was a favourite haunt for attorneys and even the occasional judge and the owners, aware of that, were keen to keep their custom and avoid any association with sleaziness.

"I hear you lost a relative recently?" Morgan continued his opening gambit.

Andrew Mason threw his own bill on the bar, he wasn't accepting Morgan's offer

"You shouldn't be talking to me. The McCain case comes to trial in under two weeks. If you don't want me to call 'witness intimidation' I suggest you leave me alone."

"Actually I'm perfectly entitled to speak with you. Your belief that Douglas Mason, the man you thought was your cousin, died as a result of my client's negligence calls into question your motive for coming forward to testify against him and I have the right to ask you questions about that. Of course you're entitled to have another attorney present. Would you care to pick someone?" He gestured at a number of other lawyers scattered around the room. "Look, Mark Berisford is over there, perhaps we should call him over? He is the ADA in charge of prosecuting this case."

Mason looked over to the table Morgan was indicating. A group from the District Attorney's office was gathered there which included Berisford, the man who'd represented the DA at Grissom's appeal hearing. As Morgan was pointing him out the man looked in their direction and nodded before going back to his conversation. Morgan made a mental note to thank Maddie Klein and complement her on her timing. When he'd realised that he'd be able to corner Mason in the bar this evening it had only taken a quick call to Klein and she'd made sure Berisford would be there too and even promised to make sure it at least appeared that the attorney had no problem with the meeting. Hopefully she'd persuaded her colleague that his discussion with Mason was about something else entirely, they were both defence lawyers and could easily have clients accused in the same case. Not that he was doing anything wrong; he could just do without having Berisford insisting on being present while Morgan talked to one of his star witnesses.

Maddie had risen to the challenge magnificently and, once more, John Morgan was impressed with the kind of friendship and loyalty Grissom inspired in people. He suspected he hadn't been the only defence attorney in Vegas to offer his services to Grissom for free and, as for Grissom's friends and colleagues, once they realised that there was going to be a battle they'd all stepped up to the mark. He only wished all his other clients had access to such a high level of support and expertise.

Still, Morgan had been forced to reach an uncomfortable conclusion. With all the evidence Grissom's friends had put before him the only obstacle he was really likely to have in persuading a jury that Gil Grissom was innocent of Laura McCain's murder was going to be the presentation of the defendant himself.

It was something he'd never have expected to worry about, Dr Gil Grissom giving a poor performance in court? How utterly ridiculous! Yet it had become a cause of deep concern for Morgan. Grissom's nervous stammer, the worry that he might break down or lash out in panic while in the courtroom and the risk that, even if he got all the anxiety under control, it might be at the cost of him appearing cold and unfeeling, all left Gil's attorney feeling very uncomfortable about the upcoming trial. That was why he'd agreed to help Jim Brass with his plan. While he was here to talk about Mason's part in the case, it wasn't with the aim of getting ammunition for use in court, it was in the hope of revealing the real culprit and avoiding making Grissom face a jury altogether.

To his relief Mason was indicating that he didn't feel the need to have someone sit in on their conversation. Thankfully no other member of the Mason family was present and Morgan had been pretty sure that Andrew Mason would not want to discuss the Paul Millander connection in front of anyone else.

By now their drinks had arrived and Morgan and Mason moved to a small table where their conversation could be more private.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Grissom was grateful that his psychiatrist had agreed to prescribe him something for his nausea and that Jim had made a point of collecting the medication on their way home.

It seemed that Catherine had suddenly realised that Grissom had spent his last birthday in jail and no-one had done anything to mark it. Grissom hadn't minded because, actually, he hadn't noticed either. With no access to TV or the papers to remind him of the date he'd only realized the day had come and gone when he'd been giving his identification details at his appeal. It hadn't mattered to him, he hadn't set much store by celebrating the anniversary of his birth for years now, doing so mainly to please other people. Having a couple of cards addressed to 'James Price' to stick to the wall of his cell would hardly have brightened his day much.

Still it seemed that Catherine had decided to combine her mission to put the meat back on his bones with another stage in his 'reintroduction to society' program and he was now sitting at Jim's dining table once again, this time with a large frosted cake in front of him adorned with lit candles in the shape of the numbers "5" and "2" plus an additional regular birthday candle 'to represent the extra point one of a year since his actual birthday' on the top. Catherine, Nick and Warrick were all seated opposite, looking at him expectantly.

_Please don't ask me if I'm making a wish_, he thought, _you don't want to know what I want most right now_.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

While Grissom was otherwise occupied, Jim Brass, David Hodges and Greg Sanders were gathered in his old office at the crime lab. With the trial getting closer it was getting more and more urgent that they find some way to make real progress.

Once again the possibility of obtaining samples from Vincent Lurie by alternative means was being considered.

"I know we haven't got round to asking Gil how he feels about the idea yet, but he's so down I want to be able to offer him a fully developed plan to think about. Obviously he can offer suggestions for changes, but he seems to find it easier to think straight when he has fewer possibilities to cope with.

"So, David, you're still our best option for getting near our subject without being recognized. Are you still prepared to go ahead with the plan?"

Hodges looked unhappy.

"Wouldn't Sanders be a better choice?" David had been hoping Brass had already come to that conclusion, why else had he dragged Greg in on their private meeting? "Field work was never my strong point and he's a fully trained CSI now, although he wasn't then, so Lurie wouldn't have had any contact with him either, would he?"

"Actually I did. I came up with the idea of using an ALS to reveal which of the potential suspects were using the products I discovered on the hair from the crime scene and Grissom let me run with it. I went to the hospital to do the test myself. Lurie would have definitely seen me then, because I picked him out."

"Fortunately Greg looked rather different in those days," Jim resumed, "so I've asked him to join us because he can help make sure you get the right guy, but I still wouldn't risk him doing more than a simple walk past, you're the one who'll need to hang around until you can get the evidence we need. It will have to be from the hospital canteen or somewhere else that Lurie eats or drinks. From what Mandy told you we'll be a lot better off with DNA than just getting prints. We need as much certainty as we can get if we're going to persuade the DA to let Gil off the hook."

"OK." Hodges sighed again. "I just want the two of you to know that I'm only doing this because it's Gil. If either of you guys gets into trouble, you're on your own."

"You know Hodges," Greg answered with a grin, "I never expected anything else." But his brown eyes were serious; he was impressed that Hodges was willing to do this.

In the privacy of the darkened office the three men began to discuss their options.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

John Morgan was trying to gain empathy with his fellow attorney.

"You and I do the same job. We both know the set up. You get up on the witness stand, Berisford asks appropriate questions, you say what you think you heard my client say, and then I do my best to make you appear mistaken, inaccurate or downright untruthful. Of course that part will be difficult, because you know exactly the kinds of tactics I'd be likely to try.

"I'm sure you're also aware that one of the things I'm considering is calling your cousin Alexander to testify should the prosecution attempt to use Dr. Grissom's initial acceptance of a plea bargain as an indication of guilt. Of course that would mean raising the whole issue of 'cousin' Douglas Mason and his alter ego.

"That revelation would certainly have advantages for my client; a judge who turned out to be a serial killer is probably one of the few stories that would move Dr. Grissom's own trial off the front page.

"There will certainly be questions asked about how Millander got to be a judge in the first place but, with the bar association only responsible for checking his academic abilities it's the electorate who will be thinking about their choices twice when the next vote comes up just over a month from now. By the way, have you suggested to your sister that she change her campaign literature? I believe 'Douglas Mason' gets a mention as part of the 'long tradition of legal service' she hails from."

"She has already altered the brochures, and I'm sure that any articles about Paul Millander will make it clear that he was a devious man who deliberately took advantage of my family name to give him an aura of respectability he'd never have otherwise achieved."

"I'm sure it will, but I'm afraid we both know that mud sticks. Something which I'm afraid your family and my client are going to have to learn to cope with, whatever the outcome of all this might be." Morgan stopped and watched Mason intently, trying to register his reaction. The idea of family was clearly strong among the Mason's, enough so that Alexander Mason had gambled, and lost, his career to avenge someone he'd believed to be a distant cousin. Could Andrew Mason's loyalty be used to persuade him to help in some way? It was fortunate that this year was the one in which Andrew's older sister had decided to run for election to the state judiciary. Maybe that would give him some leverage.

"Of course there's someone else who's risking having their name dirtied by playing a role in this case. Have you warned your client, Dr. Lurie, that there may be repercussions for him in all this? I take it that he did consult you before he came forward? That's how you found out that my client was under suspicion isn't it, Lurie contacted you and persuaded you to bear witness as well?"

Mason looked at him blankly, he was a good enough attorney to rate a senior surgeon amongst his clients and he wasn't going to open up to Morgan that easily.

"What if I went to him? Obviously I couldn't offer to testify without checking with Dr. Lurie first. Dr. Grissom's words were an indiscretion on his part, but I am not so indiscreet as to risk my client's reputation by dragging up an occasion when he was accused of something for which there was so little evidence that there wasn't even a question of Dr. Lurie being indicted. A point I'm sure the ADA will raise should you attempt to bring up the issue in court."

"He should," Morgan conceded, not believing for one moment that Mason had been the proactive member of the partnership, the 'what if?' phrasing of Mason's response was a very obvious attempt to mislead, "but that's the problem isn't it? Dr Lurie may be your client, but you're only attending this trial as a witness, you won't be able to protect him, that's up to ADA Berisford, and Lurie won't be his highest priority, he wants my client convicted, anything else is secondary. I hope you were clear about that in advising your client."

"Dr. Lurie is fully aware of the possible consequences. Fortunately he will be fifty-five this year and has already made plans for early retirement. He considers that any backlash there might be would be of minimal importance in comparison with doing his civic duty by giving the jury an impression of how Doctor Grissom's mind works."

_Really_, thought Morgan, _now that's interesting timing._

"Now, if that's all..." Mason was preparing to leave now. Morgan hadn't finished yet, so he tried to stall his opponent by changing approach.

"Look, Andrew," Morgan addressed the man sitting with him as a colleague and equal, "I'm not threatening you, I'm not even asking you to withdraw your testimony, you've been deposed now, there would be no point. You could be forced to appear anyway, but while the prosecution has Vincent Lurie to speak for them, they don't actually need you anyway other than for confirmation. In fact the odds are they won't call you, because, thanks to your cousin Alexander, I could ask you all sorts of useful questions regarding your antipathy toward my client that I wouldn't be permitted to put to Lurie. In fact I'd be tempted to call you anyway, I'll have no difficulty getting your cousin declared a hostile witness and once we've heard from him having the same declared about you will be no problem. Client privilege may protect Lurie, but what protection do you have?"

Morgan watched as Mason turned this new idea over in his mind. He clearly hadn't thought about this repercussion of his family's personal involvement in Grissom's persecution. However it happened Morgan would be able to get him up on the stand and be able to ask him leading questions. The issue now was whether Mason had any information that he was afraid might be revealed under that kind of questioning and, more importantly whether he believed Morgan knew about it.

Right now Morgan didn't, although his experiences so far indicated he shouldn't rule out Brass and the CSIs coming up with something at the last minute. His job right now was to indicate that he _did_ know something while surreptitiously fishing for clues about what that something was so that he could pass the lead on to Grissom's friends.

"You know I've been reviewing the law as it applies to privilege," he began, "initially I wanted to see if I could prevent you from revealing what was said in the interview room that day because of it's connection to your client's possible implication in that murder, but apparently that would only work if your client was involved in _this_ murder. Even then it would all depend on when your client came to you, after all, if, for example, he came to you with a hypothetical question _before_ Laura McCain was murdered then not only would attorney-client privilege be suspended, you'd actually be obliged to pass on any information you had." It seemed a fair guess that Lurie might have asked legal advice at some point in the lead up. Even if he wasn't quite as involved as Brass had assured Morgan he was, Lurie's retirement preparations seemed to indicate some foreknowledge of the events that had led to Grissom being accused of murder.

"Complicated isn't it?" he added with a smile, a prearranged gesture to the bar tender resulting in a stronger type of liquor appearing in front of Andrew Mason.

This time the offer was not rejected.


	36. The Price of Ignorance

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 36**

**The Price of Ignorance**

"No, absolutely not! I won't agree."

Jim was almost pleased to get such a strong reaction from Grissom after watching his friend apparently enveloped in a dense mental fog for so long. It was just unfortunate that it was this particular subject that had caused him to break out of his befuddlement.

"Gil, I promise we'll be careful. If it looks for one second like Lurie is becoming aware of what's happening we'll pull out. The man can't claim he's being harassed just because someone who happens to know you uses the hospital cafeteria. It is open to the public after all. Just remember we want to do this to help you, not to get you into any extra trouble."

"I'm not concerned about me. I don't think anything could make things worse for me, but I don't want to think I've brought anyone else down with me. It's not as though you have much more than a hunch to make you think it's worth going to all this effort to get hold of a sample of Lurie's DNA. I've had enough Jim. I only have a few days of this semi-freedom left; don't make me spend them worrying about my friends."

With that Grissom turned and hurriedly walked away. Jim watched his friend disappear from the living room and waited to hear the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs. He wished he'd had more time to pick a good moment to speak to Gil about their plan, but they were already half way to the day when the trial was due to begin and there wasn't time to waste. So, when Grissom had been up and about after he returned from meeting Sanders and Hodges he'd waited only long enough to find out if Grissom had eaten properly while Catherine was visiting before raising the subject. He knew that once they'd had the discussion his friend might find it difficult to swallow anything. Unfortunately it seemed he'd still made a mistake and now he expected to hear the sound of Grissom's footsteps heading straight toward the bathroom.

Instead there was the slam of the kitchen door. It appeared that Gil's need to get way from the awkward situation had overcome any agoraphobia that might still be affecting him. Jim didn't have to worry that his friend was going to go very far, it was well into Grissom's curfew period and, although it had not been mentioned since the day they'd been at Gil's house, Jim knew that, even after more than a week, Gil was still constantly aware of the tracking device locked around his ankle and would not forget about it for long enough to accidentally wander beyond the limits set by his bail conditions.

Glancing through the window Jim could see the outline of a figure, hands in pockets, face tilted up towards the darkening sky.

Deciding to let his friend calm down in his own way, Brass went about tidying away the remnants of Grissom's 'birthday' meal, grabbing a few titbits of party food for himself as he did so. By the time he was finished rinsing the last of the dishes it was completely dark and Gil was only visible by the light shining through the kitchen window. By now he'd moved to a bench seat that was permanently positioned in the yard, but the way his head hung between hunched shoulders showed that there had been little progress in throwing off his unhappy mood.

Sighing, Jim laid his dish towel aside. Aware of the rapid chill which fell after sunset at this time of year, he made a brief detour to collect jackets for himself and Grissom before heading outside.

Almost exactly replicating his actions on the day Grissom had been released from prison, Jim draped the padded jacket around his friend's shoulders before sitting down beside him.

"Even though I don't accept that you're going back to prison, I don't suppose you want to spend the next week in bed with a chill. You can't rely on that iron constitution of yours at the moment, you know. I reckon it's just about rusted through considering your general health right now." Brass tried to make a joke, but the other man didn't laugh, didn't even look at his friend. The only indication that Gil hadn't relapsed and 'switched off' again was the slight movement as he pulled his jacket more closely around him. Jim resisted filling the silence, not wanting to put Grissom under any pressure.

"If you're so sure I'm not going back, why are you bothering to go after Lurie now? Why take that risk? Surely you can go after him once I'm exonerated?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Jim's smile was almost invisible in the darkness but his voice was wry. Yet, as he continued, it gradually became stronger and angrier.

"But I don't want there to be any suggestion that you only got off on a technicality. I don't want Laura McCain's case to get dropped and to hear the Sheriff tell some press conference they're 'not looking for anyone else', or some other double talk that means they're still claiming you were responsible. I don't want to be warned off going after Lurie or accused of picking on him simply because I'm after revenge. But most of all, Gil, most of all, I don't want you to have to deal with going back to court. I've never seen you act so scared Gil, to be so unlike yourself. You may not want to have to worry about your friends, but we're already worrying about you. _I'm _worried about you."

He paused as Grissom finally lifted his head and turned it to look at him. Even in the dim light the deep etched lines across his forehead and around his eyes showed clearly, revealing a hangdog expression. This time Brass decided not to let him wallow.

"Don't ever tell me you're not worth all this, Gil Grissom, because, of all the people that really know you, you're the only one with that idea. I know you've never had a particularly high opinion of your own value, not even before all this started, but you're going to have to accept that the rest of us feel differently." Brass' voice grew quieter now as his anger at Grissom's obstinacy began to fade. "Please, Gil, I know you've never felt the need to conform, but for once in your life try and accept the view of the majority? _Please_?"

Jim put all the emphasis he could into the repetition of that last word without resorting to actually begging, but it was followed by a long pause. Grissom stared back up at the night sky, trying to find some of the peace that he'd gained from gazing at the silent stars in the past, but all he found was an angry kind of resignation.

"You know what, Jim," began his eventual answer, "I'm too tired to argue any more. Even if I wasn't I couldn't even attempt make a balanced decision, so why try? Do what you think is right, OK Jim? The judge placed me under your authority after all, she decided you would be better at knowing what I should or shouldn't do than I would be myself.

"Now, I'm going up to bed and when I get up again, can we please forget all this? I accept it's something you want to do and I won't throw your good intentions back in your face, but I already have more than I can easily carry on my shoulders. I really can't deal with anything more right now. Do what you have to do, but do it without me."

So much for David's insistence that they talk to Gil before putting their plan into action, Jim thought. Still, at least he had managed to move Grissom from outright refusal to grudging acceptance. It would have to be enough.

"OK, if that's how you need it to be, then I understand. You go on up, I'll see you in a few hours and we'll start afresh. OK?"

"OK." Grissom quickly returned to the warmth of the house. Jim remained where he was, to allow his friend the time to get out of the way so there wouldn't be any awkwardness between them before his friend had some rest. He hoped Gil would calm down enough to get to sleep quickly. They were trying a new experiment to help adjust the scientist's sleep patterns. Gil would just try to sleep for four hours at this point rather than for the whole night, then get up for a while before going back for another four hours at around six a.m. Over the years he'd spent on the graveyard shift Grissom had found that the best way to cope had involved sleeping for four hours in the morning after work and then getting another four hours in in the evening before going back to the lab. After doing that for most of his adult life it was no wonder he couldn't manage to remain asleep for a full eight hours over night, so the plan was to go back to the four hour pattern but gradually reduce the time Gil was awake at night between the two sessions until Grissom finally managed to stay in bed all night. In the meantime, with Jim still on a night shift schedule, the two were able to keep each other company during the early hours, at least when Brass didn't have to go in to work. Between juggling his rota days, fetching what work he could home and the occasional use of his rapidly dwindling vacation time, Jim was only working two or three whole shifts a week, although, like tonight, he occasionally had to call in for more paperwork and to check on progress with the cases he was overseeing.

Eventually Jim rose, feeling his joints complain that they had become stiff in the cold, then headed back indoors. Time for a coffee he thought. Once he was pretty certain Gil was asleep he'd make a few calls and get the ball rolling. For now though he'd have to earn his keep and bury himself in some very tedious time sheets and expenses claims.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Three days later, after some rapid, but hopefully subtle, research into Vincent Lurie's regular habits, David Hodges sat at a slightly sticky table in the hospital cafeteria, trying not to let his disgust at his surroundings show. It was bad enough that he was expected to swipe someone's trash and couldn't use gloves when touching it to avoid suspicion, without having to sit here at a poorly cleaned table surrounded by sick people. Hodges suppressed a shiver and hunched his shoulders more as he wrapped himself a now cold cup of coffee. It was his misfortune that, while the surgeon's presence had been predicted successfully, none of their investigations had revealed that he would be eating a full meal and Hodges had been forced to make his single cup of watery instant last for nearly an hour now.

Of course if he'd only been left to his own devices, he would have been a position or two behind Lurie in the self-service queue and could have allowed the doctor's choices to inform his own. Unfortunately, as usual no-one else had really appreciated his abilities or trusted him to decide on his own _modus operandi_. Instead Brass had insisted that Lurie would be less likely to notice him if he was already seated in the cafeteria when his prey arrived. So, once Greg had given him a nudge in the hospital corridor as Lurie walked past he'd hurried along to get himself settled while the surgeon made slower progress thanks to a number of chats with staff and patients. Not wanting to be stuck in the cafeteria for too long if Lurie changed his mind about going in there that day, David had just grabbed the coffee and decided it would be enough. With a virtual monopoly over those forced to seek sustenance while they were at Desert Palm, the cafeteria's prices were extortionate for such an inferior product.

Hodges scowled at his disposable cup and plastic 'stirrer'. Then, realising he was attracting the attention of one of the clean-up staff, he rapidly attempted to look like the distraught relative of a patient and ducked his head. He really hoped Lurie would finish eating soon.

Meanwhile, Greg was waiting outside the room. After pointing Lurie out to Hodges his initial amusement from noting that the doctor had clearly lost his battle with male pattern baldness over the years since he'd last seen him had now faded enough to be replaced by a certain amount of edginess. Hodges had never struck him as the perfect candidate for 'under cover' work, but that wasn't actually Sander's biggest concern. The problem with having to do this in a hospital was the ban on using cell 'phones. Greg knew that it wasn't just done to inconvenience people, there was a genuine concern that life saving machinery might be affected, but, right now, if things started to go wrong for Hodges he would have to make a quick decision about whether to go in and attempt to help on his own, or rush outside in order to try and reach Brass.

Going for the latter option was not guaranteed to be successful, because Brass was taking advantage of Lurie's temporary absence from the surgical clinic at the hospital and he and Warrick Brown were trying to find out if any of the regular staff recognised Laura McCain's photograph and, if so, whether there was an explanation of why there was no record of her being operated on at Desert Palm. So, until they were done, Jim and Warrick's cells would be turned off too.

Greg chewed on a finger nail, his brown eyes dark with concern as he occasionally glanced through the glass panels of the cafeteria doors, through which Hodges, but not Lurie, was visible. It was a pity they weren't the doors to the maternity unit, he would have seemed far less out of place if they had been.

Suddenly hurried footsteps could be heard coming towards him. Turning, Greg saw Jim Brass approaching at the fastest speed he could manage without being stopped for running in the hospital's corridors.

"We need to pull him out." The middle aged detective spoke in between his efforts to regain his breath. "Some stuffs come up - should be enough to get Lurie's DNA by warrant - there's no point risking ourselves further on this."

"You sure?" Greg checked, knowing that going into the cafeteria to fetch Hodges could be risky in itself because of the attention it might draw to them.

"Absolutely." Brass was adamant.

Nodding his acceptance Greg turned and headed through the doors into the cafeteria.

Jim sank onto a nearby chair, keeping an ear open for any sound that might indicate a problem inside the restaurant. His efforts with Warrick at Lurie's clinic had been pretty successful, particularly when they'd shown the image to a couple of people who worked specifically for Lurie rather than the hospital. The two had recognised Laura McCain and indicated that she had been seen by Lurie at one of his more exclusive clinics, which was particularly interesting because, as far as Jim knew, Ms McCain only had a basic health insurance package.

However, that wasn't what had caused Jim to rush halfway across the hospital site to reach David and Greg's location. As soon as he'd finished his part of the investigation Jim had stepped outside and turned his 'phone back on to check for any messages from Greg, or Grissom who he'd had to leave 'home alone', although Gil, in accordance with their earlier agreement, didn't know precisely why Jim had gone out. Instead there had been a missed call from Grissom's attorney, John Morgan. After listening to the associated message on his voice mail, Brass had sent Warrick to bring his vehicle around to the hospital's main entrance for a quick departure and rushed to call off 'Operation Coffee Cup' as Greg had imaginatively insisted on calling it.

Now, while Greg extricated his partner in crime, James Brass pondered how best to deal with the new information he now had.


	37. Price Restructuring

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 37**

**Price Restructuring**

Warrick Brown tugged a pair of gloves over his long musician's fingers before taking the padded envelope from John Morgan. It wasn't particularly heavy and contained more than one item. Solid 3D objects, it didn't feel like there were any papers inside with them. The CSI's eyes were serious now, although he'd been laughing minutes earlier while he and Greg Sanders had been driving towards the lawyer's office.

Having dropped Jim Brass and David Hodges back at Brass' house, Greg had finally been able to reveal why Hodges had been so upset about the way he had been extracted from the cafeteria at Desert Palms and how Greg had not only embarrassed him but had 'completely blown' his cover. Hodges rant had continued until Brass had bluntly told him to shut up so that he could return Morgan's call and get the full story behind the voice mail message he'd received.

According to Greg, as soon as he'd entered the cafeteria and been able to observe Lurie as well as Hodges he'd realised that the surgeon was eyeing David suspiciously.

With Lurie already wary, Greg was concerned that his own second appearance that day might be enough to trigger alarm bells and make the doctor remember when he'd seen Greg previously. So, rather than compounding Hodges' dubious behaviour and lurking about so that Lurie couldn't help think they were up to something Greg had marched straight up to David's table and accused him of hiding away just because he didn't like field work and urging him to hurry up because their vic was now ready to be processed. Apparently Hodges' outraged and astonished response had been perfect for the charade and Greg was confident that the strategy had worked, even if he'd be in Hodge's bad books for some time to come.

Once Brass had completed his call he'd taken a few moments to consider his options, now that he suddenly had two new leads to pursue.

"OK. Do either of you guys have your kit with you?" Jim had asked the two CSIs. Warrick had nodded, they were using his car and he kept his gear neatly stowed in his trunk so he would always be prepared if called directly to a crime scene in an emergency.

"Good. In that case I'd like the two of you to go over to see Gil's attorney. Apparently some new physical evidence has come into his possession although he won't tell me exactly how until the person who passed it to him has arranged some kind of a deal. I need you guys to go collect it and then see if you can find a corner of the lab and start processing as soon as possible. This could be crucial stuff and we don't have much time. Ideally you'll find something which means the evidence will stand on its own, just in case whoever brought it in backs out of testifying or takes the fifth. If you take a short detour via my place you can drop David and me there. We'll check on Gil and, if you can distract him for a while, David, I'll do some research into this private clinic where Laura McCain may have been treated. I want to be as prepared as possible so I can get straight to the point when we go to the place. If you could let John Morgan know that I'll need him to request a subpoena to get us access to any medical documents regarding Ms McCain. I'll e-mail him the details. Then I'll head out to see what I can get out of the staff there while I wait for the paperwork but I'll drop David off back to the lab first to help you guys out with the analysis. Is that OK with everyone?"

It had been. Hodges had considered arguing about his 'babysitting' role, but at least Captain Brass appreciated that the CSIs would need his help analysing the new evidence, so he had decided to keep quiet. The group had followed Jim's plan and now Greg and Warrick were finally taking possession of the mystery evidence John Morgan had obtained.

"Do we have a chain of custody for the envelope's contents?" Warrick felt comfortable using the technical term with the defence attorney. "How many people have come into contact with the things inside besides you?"

"The items were already in that envelope when they came into my possession. I have only touched the envelope itself and the 'donor' says they have been kept in a safe for which he has the only key since he was given them. I'm told that the blue box is the older item which he has held for some years. The black one was given to him earlier this year. I don't know exactly what is inside them, but I'm told they could both be very valuable to Grissom's case."

With Greg carefully documenting his actions Warrick opened the flap of the envelope and withdrew the first of the two boxes it held. It was black and covered in faux leather with a stamped gold edging, like the kind of presentation box used for gifts such as pens or paper knives. Gingerly handling the item in a way which avoided touching the surfaces most likely to have prints on them, because his gloves would only prevent him contaminating the evidence with his own prints, not stop him accidentally smudging those already there, he raised the lid of the box.

Nestling in a bed of black velvet was an item that appeared far less valuable than would normally be kept in such a container. It was a disposable syringe. The needle was protected by the plastic cap that it had come with but the seal indicating it was unused and sterile was missing. Tiny droplets of a clear liquid were just visible in the barrel of the needle.

"Interesting." Warrick kept his comments to a minimum and carefully closed the box. He then put it into a plastic evidence bag which he labelled and sealed, further inspection would have to wait until they were back in the lab and had the right tools and environment to avoid contamination or anything else which might affect the evidence's usefulness in court. Even if this was the syringe that was used to inject Laura McCain with chloral hydrate they'd need more than an analysis of the contents to link it to both victim and perp. Warrick wasn't going to enthuse over the hypodermic until he knew they had that.

Laying aside the black box Warrick reached carefully into the envelope a second time and withdrew the blue box. This was more of a puzzle, if the box had been in the hands of this mysterious 'donor' for years, how could it have any impact on the McCain case?

Manoeuvring the box as delicately as before, Warrick noted that it was of similar dimensions to the other, maybe just a little longer. It was a deep blue in colour and the embellishments were silver this time, instead of gold. The other difference was that it was fastened closed by a tiny hasp instead of simply being held shut by strong hinges. Knowing that this would be a prime spot for finger prints and possibly even epithelials Warrick carefully used forceps to lift the catch and open the box.

Greg continued to click away recording every move on his camera. The item in the box was a scalpel. It seemed to be a relatively large example of the instrument. Both CSIs examined the object visually as well as they could without removing it from its crushed velvet nest. Greg, now using his camera on extreme zoom, could see tiny rust coloured specks around the base of the blade. Knowing that surgical steel was not subject to rusting other than in very extreme circumstances, he realised that it was probably blood and said as much to his partner.

"Yeah, it's a possibility, but whose is it? Even if it belongs to Laura McCain what would it prove if it's years old?"

Greg had lowered the camera now and was standing with a frown of concentration on his face. Suddenly his brow uncreased and he looked at Warrick with widening eyes as a possibility suddenly came to him.

"'Rick, am I right in thinking that the one thing never found in the Marlin case was the knife used to kill her and dissect her boyfriend, Michael Clark? I know that I wasn't a CSI at the time but I'm sure I would have remembered if I'd been given any murder weapon to check for DNA."

Warrick gazed at the article in his hands. "You could be right, you know, Doc Robbins did say a scalpel was the most likely tool. But if that's what this is then it would only be of use to Grissom's cause if Lurie is responsible for all three deaths."

"In which case it would also be very useful in persuading the DA's office to drop the charges against Doctor Grissom and concentrate on prosecuting Doctor Lurie instead." The CSI's nearly jumped, they'd almost forgotten about Morgan's presence even though they were currently in his office. 'A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush' as they say, but if we can give them evidence linking Lurie to _three_ killings as well as implicating him in framing your friend, then we may just stand a chance of keeping Grissom out of court altogether. However I need you to prove that from the evidence alone, the witness who passed those items to me is seeking an immunity deal but, if he doesn't get it he'll refuse to speak at all under the Fifth Amendment and I have to admit I couldn't blame him, we just have to be grateful he handed the evidence over without getting those assurances first."

"You realise that, if your witness has touched these items without gloves then his prints may come up on a search."

"I do. However he has reassured me that he has never touched the items inside the boxes. He refrained from wiping the outsides of the containers because he didn't want to destroy any evidence, but he has asked that we concentrate on the contents themselves and only resort to examining the exterior surfaces if it's impossible to get enough evidence any other way. He has placed himself at risk by cooperating this much, it would be nice to offer him at least that much courtesy."

Greg looked at Warrick, leaving it to the senior CSI to make the decision.

"No promises, but we'll do our best."

"Fair enough. Now, I'll let you get on with what you have to do. Tell Captain Brass that I'll call him when I've arranged the subpoena. I look forward to hearing what results you get from those."

Finishing bagging and tagging the evidence Warrick and Greg made their departure.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Grissom had seemed fine when Jim and David joined him back at the house. He had even agreed to Hodges' suggestion of a short walk around the block. Brass made a mental note that this may be a sign that he ought to give his friend more opportunities to escape from the house which had somehow ended up just being a larger version of the prison cell he'd spent the last few months inhabiting.

A short length of time on the internet showed that the clinic Lurie's staff had remembered seeing Laura McCain visit was very exclusive indeed. Jim called the insurance company where the murder victim had her health cover and, posing as a potential customer, managed to establish that even their 'Premiere' policy would not allow him to access the services of that particular practice, because it put up its patients in private hospitals, and the company preferred to offer it's users the more economical option of private rooms in public hospitals. Laura's accounts had been scrutinised at the time of her death and she certainly hadn't paid enough out of them to pay for her surgery without using an insurance policy. However she had come to be treated there, someone else had been paying. Combining that with Ms McCain's regular doctor's certainty that he'd referred her to Desert Palm, Jim was certain he had enough reason to obtain a subpoena. He quickly set out the information he'd obtained in an e-mail and sent it on to John Morgan who would arrange for the court to issue the paperwork. It was a frustrating round about way of doing it as far as Jim was concerned, but he wasn't working the case officially as a cop and therefore wasn't in a position to go to a judge directly.

By the time David and Gil were back from their walk, Grissom was ready for a rest, Hodges was ready to get to the lab and find out what exactly Warrick and Greg had in the way of evidence to be processed and Jim was ready to bang some heads together, or at least get some serious answers while he waited for the court order to arrive at the clinic.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Four days later, Brass walked into his living room. As he entered there was a sudden movement from the armchair where Grissom was settled in a relaxed position, with one leg crossed over and resting on his other knee.

He'd only caught it out of the corner of his eye, but Jim had been involved in enough police raids to recognize the action as suspicious and note the quickly masked look of guilt on his friend's face. He raised an eyebrow.

"Did you want something, Jim?" Grissom asked, reaching to lay aside the puzzle book that had been resting on his lap whilst subtly pulling the leg of his pants lower down over his ankle.

Jim still managed to spot the action and he didn't do subtle. "Do you have a problem?" he asked, indicating Gil's ankle. "You don't have to hide that thing from me, you know that." The shape of the GPS tracking device the court had decreed Grissom should wear was visible beneath his dark sock.

"I-I w-wasn't." Grissom moved to uncross his legs but his new 'tell' had given him away and Brass, now aware that something really wasn't right, stopped him.

"Let me see?"

"No. No, it's OK, it's nothing. Can we leave it, please Jim?"

By now, Brass had noted that there were darker patches on the sock near where the ankle strap of the tracker rested. What really concerned the detective was that they seemed to be signs of dampness. He decided he needed to investigate further, however his friend might feel.

"Sorry, pal, but you can't have it both ways. Only a few days ago you told me to make all the decisions for you and now I'm going to overrule you. Show me your ankle."

With a sigh, Grissom slipped off his shoe and pulled his sock off. He looked away in embarrassment as Brass, noting that the removal of the sock had left behind rust coloured streaks of blood, gently reached to slide the band of the electronic device further up towards Grissom's calf.

Both men hissed at this point, Grissom because the action stung and Jim because of the sight that met his gaze. The area that the band had covered was red and raw. There were spots of blood and one or two areas which had scabbed over a little, but not much, as if the wounds were constantly being reopened.

"Gil, why didn't you say something about this? They can unlock these things at PD, you know, you could have got the strap adjusted so it wasn't so tight. This thing is only meant to keep track of where you are at night, it's not meant to be a method of torture in its own right."

"It isn't too tight." Gil's voice was dull, "See how far you managed to move it up my leg."

"Oh-Kay," Brass drew the word out slowly, "then why don't you wear the tracker over your sock where it will be cushioned? Maybe not out in public, but at least while you're around the house. You know I won't think any worse of you if I see it there. Now stay there while I get the first aid kit. If we don't do something about it now it's going to get infected and I know you won't want to let your doctor see you like this." He hurried from the room, not noticing as Grissom half opened his mouth, about to say something.

On his return Jim was carrying a towel and a small dish of water as well as the first aid kit. Grabbing one of his dining chairs he placed it in front of Grissom's chair, put the folded towel on the seat and got Gil to rest his foot on it so that he could access the damaged skin more easily. Gently he began to cleanse the abraded area.

"I had no idea that these things could chafe so much. It's a serious design flaw you know; some people have to wear these for months on end. I'm surprised no-one's complained."

"Jim, please, it's not the strap that's been rubbing, it's me."

Now that he had managed to remove the worst of the blood, except for a few places that continued to ooze a few drops, he could see that his friend had been doing more than rubbing, there were many scratches present too, some quite deep. Reaching for a tube of antiseptic cream he began to apply it, not commenting or looking at Gil, just getting on with his ministrations, hoping that his tacit declaration of his concern would encourage Grissom to continue with his admission, knowing that he wasn't being judged.

"I just can't seem to stop myself from worrying at it, however much it hurts. You'd think it would be easy for me, wouldn't you? You and my other friends have told me so often to loosen up, not keep myself under such tight control and now I can't stop one stupid, harmful habit." He stopped for a moment and Jim looked up from the bandage he was now carefully wrapping around the damaged area to see his friend's face racked with anguish.

"I just want to be me again." Grissom half moaned, his fits clenching and unclenching before he threw himself back into his chair, wrapping his arms around himself and pulling his free leg up towards him.

Although Jim had now finished treating Grissom's ankle he didn't let go; that would have allowed Gil to curl up completely. Looking at his friend's latest attempt to withdraw into himself he suppressed a sigh. Looking down at the foot in his hand he selected a promising looking toe and yanked hard.

Grissom yelped and snatched his foot out of Brass' grip, but at least he'd been, literally, pulled back from his retreat and was now giving Jim his full attention.

"OK, that's it. I was coming in here to make a suggestion, but now we're going to go out whatever you say."

"Out?" Grissom's expression was only just on the sensible side of panic.

Jim took pity on him, a little. "It's OK, I've planned it all very carefully, we'll be outdoors but there's somewhere under cover you can retreat to and be quiet if you need to. Likewise, I picked it because there will be people around, but you won't have to interact with them if you don't want to. Just come out with me and then we'll play it by ear and see how you go."

Gil just looked at him his eyes wide and anxious.

"You said you didn't want to spend the time running up to your trial worrying about your friends. Now I find you're spending it doing yourself damage instead. Please trust me, I've chosen somewhere I'm sure you'll like, and you can even bring that puzzle book in case you decide to just sit in a corner. At least you'll be getting some air and a little sunshine. I'll be right by your side unless you tell me otherwise. Consider it part of your desensitisation programme. Your psychiatric appointment is this afternoon so we can go straight there afterwards and you can discuss the experience while it's still fresh in your mind"

Slowly Gil nodded. He did need to spend some time in a place where there would be a number of unfamiliar faces. It was Monday now, his trial was due to start at the end of the week and he had no idea how he would cope. Swallowing hard he looked at Jim.

"Do I need to get changed?" he asked.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

At first Grissom had seemed stoic as Brass drove them along. He made no attempt to respond to Jim's attempts at conversation, just stared at the road ahead. Now, as he realised Jim was turning onto the Strip he looked around in alarm.

"Where are we g-going Jim? I c-can't go into a c-casino. Even if my tag doesn't set off any alarms there'll be too much noise, too many p-people, and no easy way out. P-please don't make me."

"Hey, hey, hey. Stop that right now. I said we're going to be outside, didn't I? We will be parking in the Mirage's lot, but we're headed around the back. I've fixed it so we can use a different entrance and not follow the normal tourist route through the hotel."

"The Mirage?" Jim thought he almost saw Grissom smile as he realised where they were headed, but he could only see his friend from the corner of his eye as he concentrated on making the turn into the parking lot. "Are you taking me to watch the dolphins?"

"Yup. I know you like 'em; I saw the 'Trainer for the Day' certificate when I had to look through the stuff from your office to find your work boots. Apparently Mondays at this time of year are pretty quiet, the tourists don't normally discover it's here until later in the week and even in Vegas' climate people tend to prefer to find indoor activities now it's officially Fall. If you don't want to get too involved we can just sit in the stands, if we move far enough back nobody should bother us too much. If you feel up to it later on we can go and say 'hi' to the dolphins properly then. So," he finished as he guided the car into a convenient space, "what do you think?"

Grissom thought it was worth a try and, once they'd been there a while, he even managed to stay in the under water observation area when he was joined there by a passing tour group. Watching the friendly looking marine mammals swim calmed him and he was almost ready to take a nap despite the hard seats in the stands when Brass' cell rang.

"Sorry." Jim apologized when his friend jumped, then stood up to walk away a little for privacy. He didn't get far though, the shock of the ringing 'phone had set Gil's nerves back on edge and he reached for Brass' sleeve, eyes begging for him to stay. Nodding Jim sat down again to continue his conversation.

"Hey, thanks for calling. Have you any news?" Pause. "No, of course I won't, do you really think I would?" After another moment's silence, Jim grinned. "That's great, and you're confident about that?" His face fell a little and he briefly glanced at Grissom. "I'm not sure he's up to that. We'd be asking a hell of a lot."

Grissom looked up nervously, the tranquillity he'd picked up from the dolphins dissipating rapidly.

"I see." Jim continued. "Well, we can only ask. Do you want me to talk to him?"

Now it was Jim's turn to take hold of Grissom's arm before his friend could decide to flee.

"Actually we're at the Dolphinarium. I have to get Gil to his court approved psychiatrist by 3.30; will you be in your office at around five? You will?" Whatever the last response had been it had made Brass raise his eyebrows in surprise. "Does he need his attorney present?"

The last question really worried Grissom, as well as ruining his theory that it was John Morgan at the other end of the line. Brass could feel him trembling.

"Look, I need to hang up and take some time to calm him down. We'll see you soon and you'll need to be at your most persuasive, believe me. Good bye."

Slipping his 'phone back into his pocket, Jim turned to his very pale companion, "Gil, you need to relax a little, I'm sorry if my end of that conversation has frightened you. There's nothing about this that will lessen your chances of being acquitted, I swear. That was Maddie Klein; she has a favour to ask you. She's actually on her way to meet us here in order to talk to you. I told her not to expect too much from you right now, but it is urgent and she insists you'll help. Apparently you're the one man who's never let her down."

Grissom sighed. He didn't know what Maddie could possibly want from him now, but he was sure he was about to let her down for the first time, because he had nothing left to give any more.


	38. Your Best Price

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 38**

**Your Best Price**

Grissom sat on a hard bench set against the wall in one of the corridors inside the courthouse, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. It wasn't because it was too tight, in fact it was a little on the loose side and the knot in the tie that he had borrowed from Jim had been neatly tied without being restrictive. He'd always felt a little uncomfortable dressed this formally and, right now, fidgeting with his clothing was better than niggling away at his ankle and revealing his tag to the people passing, any one of whom might be a juror who he'd soon be facing. If one of them gained the knowledge that his whereabouts were being monitored it could easily affect them when deciding if he was telling the truth.

"Gil. Gil! You need to stop that, you're ruining the effect. 'Calm, confident, competent', remember? Here, let me tidy you up."

With a sigh, Grissom turned and lifted his chin a little to allow David Hodges to restore his dress to order. Hodges was doing his best to keep him calm, but Gil wished Brass was there with him. Unfortunately Jim was needed urgently elsewhere and David had stepped in. Hodges attempts at calming Grissom were all based on diverting the older man, but Gil couldn't afford to be distracted, he needed to have all the facts that he was going to offer the jurors right at the front of his mind if today was going to be successful.

"At least your beard is pretty much back to normal," Hodges commented, "maybe a little whiter than before, but definitely back to its old fullness. You're looking good in that suit too, slim, but not so obviously skinny. Very handsome."

Grissom pulled back a little, frowning slightly as he looked at David, trying to read what exactly was being said to him. At best Hodges sounded like an overenthusiastic menswear salesman, at worst the thoughts behind the comment were of a nature that he wouldn't have wanted to contemplate too deeply at the best of times.

He was saved from trying to frame a response by the sound of his name being called.

Standing a little too quickly caused a wave of dizziness to sweep over him and he had to pause before stepping forward.

Immediately David was at his side, offering a hand in support and asking if he was OK.

"I-I-I'm f-f-f." He stopped, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, seeking the calm place Paul Anderson had taught him to find.

"I'm fine, David, I've done this plenty of times before, remember?" He summoned a weak smile. Reaching up a hand he attempted to sweep back his now slightly curling hair from his forehead into its old style before drying his clammy hands on his suit pants and moving ahead.

Briefly looking up above the doorway he read the words "Grand Jury" carved above the lintel. Then, with one more centring breath, he stepped through, barely registering David's parting good luck wishes.

Maddie's smiling face greeted him on the other side.

"Thank you for coming today, Doctor Grissom," she greeted him with his title for the benefit of the jury, "I appreciate that you have been unwell lately. Please take a seat and we'll get moving as quickly as we can."

Grissom nodded, allowing his gaze to focus only on his friend and trying to ignore the others present as much as possible. Still feeling a little light headed, he concentrated on making the short distance across the room without visibly wobbling or freezing entirely. Barely converting a complete collapse into his seat into something marginally more graceful he was just grateful that Grand Jury hearings were pretty informal affairs and that his recent 'illness' was a good excuse for him to remain seated while he was sworn in.

Maddie looked at her star witness. On the outside her jovial persona remained in place, it was her tried and tested technique for carrying a jury with her and, she fervently hoped, would encourage Grissom to relax too. However she hadn't managed to become Deputy District Attorney without having a sharp mind too and she was acutely aware that Grissom's current state of mind could easily compromise his usually high performance as a witness. There wasn't much that she could do about it at this stage, so she would just have to ask the questions that she needed to and hope that concentrating on the forensics that she would initially be quizzing him about would enable him to relax enough to face the more personal and painful subjects that she would have to raise with him later.

Even though she'd kept in touch with Grissom's progress via 'phone conversations with Brass and John Morgan, Maddie's meeting with Gil at the dolphinarium had been the first time she'd seen or spoken to him since his imprisonment and, like his other friends before her she'd been stunned by the changes she'd seen.

Spotting Grissom and Brass' little camp towards the top of the tiers of seating that surrounded the main pool she'd started to climb the steps. Knowing that the two men she was meeting were gentlemen she had expected them to come down to meet her part way as soon as they noticed that she was there. There had been no movement though and the closer she had got the less sure Maddie had become that the man seated next to Captain Brass actually was Gil Grissom. The figure had seemed much too thin and the posture was too huddled, like the guy was chilled to the bone despite the temperature being somewhere in the high eighties. Instead of looking around and absorbing the whole environment as she would expect Grissom to do when he was anticipating a new arrival this man had been concentrating only on the pool below, his head moving just a fraction to follow as one of the dolphins began to perform random leaps out of the water for its own amusement.

When she was half way up the steps Brass had acknowledged Maddie's approach but, instead of nudging Grissom so that they could descend to meet her he'd given her a half wave to show he'd seen her then turned to look briefly at his friend before giving her a slow shake of his head to warn her that Gil really wasn't doing so good right then.

"Gil, Maddie's here."

Despite the fact that Maddie had been standing right beside him at that point it was only with Brass' words that Grissom appeared to realise that the DDA had arrived. He smiled shakily.

"H-h-how, how, how c-can I h-help y-you?" he'd managed to ask before, embarrassed by his stammer, he'd clamped his mouth shut and returned his gaze to the cavorting mammals below. A moment later Maddie had simply seated herself next to Gil on the other side of him from Brass' silent but supportive presence. She had positioned herself much as she had sat beside him on his couch the day she'd asked him to cut short his sick absence to help her save a Grand Jury investigation from collapsing. Her errand that day had involved persuading him to help her by meeting with a Grand Jury too.

Maddie had spent over an hour coaxing and cajoling the scientist. She didn't attempt to stroke his ego, Lord knows she'd have been hard put to even find enough of that to stroke and she'd doubted that she would do much better appealing to his sense of self interest. In the past she'd been glad of his lack of either of these traits because, without them, Grissom was unlikely to become the master criminal he so easily could have been with his knowledge and intelligence. Still, at that point she would have been thankful for any form of leverage she could get. Instead she had pushed every button she could think of that might appeal to his logical mind. He was the best witness she had to persuade the Jury to indict on this case and he knew it, could he really refuse to help and let all the victims down?

Just as Brass had been looking at his watch for the third time and had seemed as though he was about to break in so that he could take Grissom away to his psychiatric session, Gil had spoken for the first time.

"OK," he'd said quietly, before turning tired eyes on his insistent petitioner. "OK, you win, I'll do it, or at least I'll try. Just have any documents you want me to read sent over to Jim's so I can go over them. Now, let me go and see my psychiatrist, maybe he can help me stop being such a 'classic enabler' so that, one day, I might actually manage to say 'no' to someone."

Maddie had thanked him and watched him depart with Brass, hoping his attempt at a joke based on her comments after that last Grand Jury case was a sign that the old Gil Grissom was still there to be accessed at this moment of need.

Maddie mentally shook herself, returning to the present just as Grissom completed reciting his oath. She had worked her hardest to persuade the DA to bring this hearing before the Grand Jury so quickly and that a sealed indictment was the best option. It meant that the subject of the hearing would not be aware that it was happening so, if things went wrong, it couldn't affect Grissom's trial or, if things went right, it would prevent the subject of the resulting arrest warrant from fleeing or attempting something else injurious before he was taken into custody. Even if things took the latter course things might not turn out precisely as she hoped, certain decisions would still have to be taken and it had been made clear that any further lobbying from her would not be welcome, the DA himself had warned her that her personal friendship for Grissom could cost her her career if she made any more of a nuisance of herself fighting on his behalf. Only the due process of the law could be allowed to mitigate for the former senior CSI, there could be no risk of the DA's office being accused of favouritism in this case.

"Doctor Grissom," she began, "in order to assist the Jury I'd like to discuss the crimes being looked at in this process in chronological order. The first felony to be discovered was the homicide of the nurse Debbie Marlin. You were the lead crime scene investigator assigned to the case. Can you please begin by giving an outline of the investigation and what you discovered that led to Doctor Vincent Lurie being interviewed in respect to the Ms Marlin's death?"

Once again relieved that he could take a less formal position in this environment, Grissom sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him before he began to speak. It gave the jurors an impression of deep thought as he put his mind back over five years to remember the events he was being asked about. It also gave him something to focus his gaze on, enabling him to ignore the group of strangers staring at him and control his nerves as he began to explain the progress of the investigation.

He spoke slowly at first concentrating on keeping his stammer at bay and supressing his recall of how often Debbie Marlin's face had become that of Sara Sidle whenever he'd tried to visualise what had occurred at the crime scene. Then, suddenly, he found himself slipping into his 'professional' mind set and it became easier to continue. Even Maddie's interruptions to ask him to explain to the jury why each 'clue' that had led him closer to Lurie had been indicative but not probative didn't cause him to falter. Fortunately for Grissom, Grand Jury hearings did not involve cross examination from a defence lawyer, but that made it Maddie's responsibility to make the jurors aware of the 'cons' as well as the 'pros' of what they were hearing and she was assiduous in doing so because she found that she got a better response when jurors felt she was being straight with them about everything. Plus Gil would probably find it easier to deal with these questions from her rather than the jurors when they quizzed him later.

In fact Grissom picked up on what the DDA wanted from him quickly and was soon explaining the problems with each piece of evidence automatically, without any prompting.

As he reached the point where it had been decided to question Lurie, Maddie stopped Grissom's testimony.

"So, to round up, at this point you strongly suspected Vincent Lurie to be the killer of both Debbie Marlin and Michael Clark, but you had no single item of evidence that pointed to him and him alone being responsible?"

"No"

"Might that outcome have been different if you had something which could clearly be linked to him and not just one, but both, of the victims? For example a surgical instrument which was originally in Lurie's possession and had blood on it from both victims?"

"That would have been very helpful indeed." Now that he was in full expert witness mode Grissom even managed to produce a smile.

"Unfortunately we were unable to discover the murder weapon, the knife used to cut Ms Marlin's throat and dissect Mr Clark's body." He continued letting his frustration show briefly in his expression.

"At this point I'm going to have to point out that Dr. Grissom isn't entirely up to date with what has been happening in the Nevada Crime Lab recently. He is unaware of the surgical scalpel which you were able to examine yesterday which had blood samples from both Marlin and Clark and Lurie's fingerprints on the exterior of the presentation box it was housed in. Nor does he know that it was donated along with another item linking Doctor Lurie to the murder of Laura McCain, one of the other charges which the DA's office would like him to face trial for."

She smiled encouragingly at Grissom as he tried to process the importance of what he had just heard, finally realising why Maddie had been so confident that they could really make progress with prosecuting Lurie. Until now he'd been treating the whole thing as a rehearsal for his own trial which was set to begin in just two more days. He sat up a little straighter as Maddie continued, nodding slightly to say he was OK for her to go on as planned, even though he was dreading what he knew would be coming soon.

"Yesterday you heard Mr Brown and Mr Stokes explain the evidence that has been found to link Vincent Lurie to the death of Laura McCain and that with that murder too he had managed to keep the evidence he left behind linking himself to the crime to a minimum. Instead he actually placed someone else in the frame for the act. Mr Brown and Mr Stokes not only showed you the physical evidence linking Lurie to the murder, they also showed you the ways in which he could be linked to the other evidence, the items used to frame someone else for his acts. In fact his motive in killing Laura McCain was almost certainly with the sole purpose of exacting revenge."

Maddie paused, her instinct was to bring things to a dramatic climax now, but she was horribly aware of just how pale Grissom had become. If she caused him to break down now not only did she risk losing the jury, she might also leave a good friend unable to function when he needed to be strong enough to cope with the biggest ordeal of his life. She lowered her voice bringing the atmosphere of the room down a notch or two.

"The identity of the victim of the final counts you are being asked to assess has been kept from you, other than to indicate that he was involved in the investigation of all three murders until he was removed from the McCain case as a possible suspect. That was for a number of reasons. Firstly I wasn't sure if the victim would be willing or able to testify. Later it was because I wanted him to be able to testify regarding the Marlin and Clark murders without worrying about giving further testimony if he did not feel up to it. I also wanted you to hear Doctor Grissom speak about the earlier investigation without his status as another of Lurie's victims distracting you."

There she'd done it. She'd revealed his identity more subtly than she'd originally intended but it was out in the open now nonetheless. Now to press on with his testimony before he panicked or the jury cooled towards he man in the witness chair.

"Gil," she began using his given name for the first time since he'd entered the room, "I know that the last months have been hard on you, but can you begin by telling us, in your own words, why Vincent Lurie may have a motive for wanting to frame you for murder?"

**A/N** Yes, I know, another cliff-hanger, but hopefully I won't leave you dangling for very long this time. Somehow I seem to have told myself and quite a few other people that this story will be finished by Christmas, so my update rate is going to have to seriously increase. You can help by inspiring me with your reviews and comments. _Please?_


	39. Total Price

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 39**

**Total Price**

Grissom stroked his hand down over his mouth and beard rubbing hard enough to pull the skin a little. He was trying to get his mind in order and at least this action felt normal again now his beard was in its customary trim, little else about his life felt anything like normal right now. Even the working mind set that had got him through the early part of his testimony to the Grand Jury was evaporating now that the questioning had turned to more personal issues.

He had to remind himself that these jurors weren't here to judge him; they weren't even there to judge Vincent Lurie. They were simply there to assess if there was probable cause to believe Lurie _might_ have committed the listed offences making it reasonable to continue legal action against the surgeon.

Maddie herself seemed to be trying to emphasize the difference between this and the criminal trial he was still due to face in two days time by her choice of question. Asking him why he thought Lurie might try to frame him would have immediately raised an objection at the more formal type of hearing because it called on him to speculate about Lurie's thought processes.

Unfortunately it also made it a very difficult question for someone like Grissom to answer. There was a very good reason why he was a CSI and not a psychological profiler. Not only did he prefer the solidity of 'hard' science to the fluidity of 'soft' sciences like psychology, he also had a genuine difficulty understanding other people and their motivations a lot of the time. He understood that to be a weakness in some circumstances, even if it was a strength at other times and usually left the empathy to other people, like Jim Brass. Vincent Lurie had been a rare exception, he'd thought he understood the man and between that, the frustration of being unable to find the right evidence to close the case, and a spectacular lack of judgement that he could only blame on exhaustion and an impending migraine he'd tried to use that empathy, and look where that had got him in the end.

"I can't tell you with any certainty exactly what motivated Doctor Lurie." Grissom began tentatively. Again he slowed his speech down to avoid having his stammer return. It also gave him time to think.

"The most obvious motive for killing his first two victims was jealousy. He gave up a lot to be with Ms Marlin, only to find that she was seeing someone else. He appeared to put the blame on Clark, even though, as my colleagues in the police department found out, Ms Marlin had numerous admirers. He killed Ms Marlin quickly and cleanly with a single cut from a very sharp blade. We don't know exactly how Dr Clark was dispatched but clearly Lurie's anger lasted well beyond the act of killing, that he spent many hours cutting up the man's body is a clear indication that his rage was focused in that direction."

Grissom ground to a halt and pinched the top of his nose, he needed to stop and concentrate, he was rambling now and telling the jury things they almost certainly knew already from the evidence in front of them and the presentation from Nick and Warrick that Maddie had mentioned earlier. He had to stop behaving quite so much like a CSI. Taking another centring breath he pulled his hand away from his face and tried to set off on a different tack.

"The thing is... The thing... The thing..." He closed his eyes, there was a pain building right in the centre of his forehead.

"Gil, if you're struggling we can take a break." _But I can't let you give up altogether._ Grissom finished Maddie's sentence in his head. He was committed now, the Jury knew he had more to say and, if he refused to go on they could declare him in contempt. At best that would mean an unbearable few hours in one of the court's cells before having to face them again, at worst his bail would be rescinded and he'd have to go back to jail. Grissom could tell by the way these thoughts were already starting to flood his mind that taking a break would only give him time to fret and become even tenser.

"N-no, I'll be O-OK." He rubbed his hand over his beard once more as Maddie nodded understandingly. For a brief moment he wondered what the jurors were making of this sudden change from urbane, intellectual, expert witness to a quivering wreck of a victim, but he couldn't dwell on that now, he had to focus, deal with any questions that came his way and get out of the room hoping that Hodges would be ready and waiting to pick up whatever bits of him were left.

"The thing is, I was almost jealous of Lurie myself at that point." Grissom found himself admitting. "Not because of what I believed he'd done to his two victims or because he somehow managed to get away with it, but because he had been brave enough to take the risk of dating Debbie Marlin in the first place.

"At the time I was strongly attracted to a co-worker but, unlike Lurie, I had been unable to find the self-confidence, the courage, to take the risks I needed to in order to be with her." He stopped again, looking down at his hands and focussing vaguely on the unadorned ring finger of his left hand. It seemed like a very long time since the few brief weeks when he'd actually believed it might one day be encircled by a wedding band. Looking up and toward the jury he hoped they wouldn't notice the tears he was desperately trying to control. Thank God that what came out in a Grand Jury hearing was held in the utmost secrecy. He was revealing a side of himself he'd kept hidden from even his closest friends.

"After I was accused of Laura McCain's murder I had a lot of time to think," he went on, not consciously avoiding mentioning where he'd been, just having his mind automatically edit it out so he didn't have to think about it himself. "Even before I knew there was a suspicion that I was framed rather than the victim of some horrible coincidences, my subconscious was making connections that I thought at first were just random. I kept seeing, I saw, imagined..." He stumbled again, not knowing how to continue without making it sound as though he'd been hallucinating, which kind of negated his usefulness as a witness. He looked at Maddie again, hoping she'd rescue him with an easier question, something with solid evidence he could refer to, but she just smiled encouragingly although there was worry in her eyes.

_I'm a scientist, I like to see it._ Some of the first words he'd said to Sara when she'd arrived in Las Vegas to investigate Holly Gribbs' death all those years ago. It was a random thought but it triggered an idea that he desperately hoped would allow him to overcome his mental impasse.

"Mad... Ms Klein? Does the jury have photographs of Ms Marlin and Ms McCain?"

"From before they were killed?"

Gil nodded; some of the jurors were already going through the papers in front of them to find the pictures. While they were doing so, Grissom reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and found a picture of his own. Even after Sara had left him he'd kept her image with him, returning it to its hiding place at the back of his wallet where it had been kept during the time their relationship had been secret, when he could no longer bear to see it openly displayed behind the plastic of the photo pocket at the front. It wasn't a candid shot of the two of them together, showing a private moment of joy or laughter, in fact it was a blown up version of the image from Sara's employment record, something which had amused her no end when she'd found out what he'd done. Still that made it perfect for what he was about to do.

Standing, he walked, just a little unsteadily, to where the foreperson of the jury had now laid out the two head shots of Lurie's female victims. Carefully sliding them apart, he laid the picture of Sara between them. The studied neutrality of her expression as the official photograph was taken matched those of Marlin and McCain, whose photos came from their driving licences. It hid the gap between her front teeth and enhanced the resemblance between all three women. Leaving the jury to absorb the similarities between the three, Grissom returned to his seat.

"That's Sara Sidle," he began, his voice steadier and stronger now, although he still spoke more slowly than normal. "She is the colleague I told you about. I think her picture placed next to that of Debbie Marlin tells you more about why I started to empathise with Vincent Lurie than I possibly could using words alone. Seeing the two of them next to Laura McCain, who I met shortly before she was killed, may explain why Vincent Lurie chose her as a victim, particularly as, by the time he struck, Sara Sidle was no longer living in Las Vegas." Once more Grissom performed a face wiping gesture as he tried to maintain the impetus to carry on.

"Ms Klein asked me why I thought Vincent Lurie would want to frame me. Well, at first I couldn't figure it out, because I really couldn't see how I'd given him cause to hate me so much, considering that he'd avoided being charged with his crimes. Although I had eventually found the strength to commence a relationship with Ms Sidle things didn't work out and, as I just said, at the time of Ms McCain's death Ms Sidle had moved on and away from this area." _Away from me._ Grissom shook his head slightly, he mustn't let thoughts like that affect him. The jury could already see that he was suffering, they had heard it too in the way he'd struggled to speak. Now that he had found a way forward he had to continue to distance himself with formal and dispassionate language. Allowing more anguish to seep through would prevent him helping Maddie and himself by coming up with more reason for them to vote the indictment a 'true bill' and allow Lurie's arrest to proceed. It might even alienate the jurors if they started to believe he was deliberately acting this way to win them over.

"Then I realised. In order to make it look like I committed murder Lurie must have spent a lot of time on research and planning, so I started to think about whether there was something that had happened weeks or months earlier that could have triggered him to act like this, something that might have caused him to become jealous, the feeling that made him kill the first time.

"Please, take another look at Ms Sidle's picture. Some of you may find her face familiar, and not just because of her resemblance to the two female murder victims. A while ago Sara was abducted by another murderer. There was a lot of news coverage; her picture appeared in the local papers and most of them referred to me. Mostly I was described as her supervisor, but a few reporters who saw how I was acting at the hospital afterwards figured out that I was her partner and added that to their articles for the 'human interest' angle. I can only imagine that Lurie saw one of these articles and, seeing me with a beautiful woman so similar to the one he'd loved and lost, became murderously jealous once again. Of course, by the time his plans were made I was alone again. Unfortunately for Laura McCain either he never found that out or by then he was too committed to his act of revenge to stop."

Grissom leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, hoping that none of the other questions would be as hard.

It seemed Maddie was going to take pity on him, either he looked even worse than he felt or his ramblings had led him to give so much unrequested information that there was nothing more that needed asking. Unfortunately, once the DDA had finished with her questions it was the turn of the Grand Jury, beginning with the foreperson. Grissom's story had piqued the juror's interest and Maddie Klein was kept busy reminding them to stick to questions directly related to Vincent Lurie and the crimes the DA wanted to indict him for and keep them from dwelling on what had happened to Grissom as a result. That was a subject for a victim impact statement should Lurie reach a stage where he was convicted and awaiting sentence and nothing to do with a Grand Jury. It certainly wouldn't help if the Grand Jurors found that Grissom had already done jail time for Laura McCain's murder or that the DA's office was so unsure about the later charges that they were not letting their current fish off the hook by dropping the existing court case against Grissom. Maddie had only been able to convince her superiors to put all the charges against Lurie in front of the Grand Jury because they wanted to get a conviction for the initial double murder and, as she had pointed out, the key evidence in those murders was inextricably linked with key evidence in proving the other crimes, particularly now the mysterious 'donor' had been persuaded to testify. Trying to say one was correct and not the other would be ridiculous unless the Grand Jury voted to reject some of the charges. Even if they didn't, with Grissom's trial so close, Maddie had a horrible feeling that it would be allowed to go ahead and, if Gil were found guilty, the third murder and framing related charges would quietly be dropped before Lurie went to court.

Eventually there were no more questions. Grissom was the last witness to appear so Maddie left the room with him, primarily to enable the jurors to begin their deliberations in private but also so she could make sure her friend was OK.

He managed to get out of the room without giving in to the strain he had been under, but then his legs refused to carry him any further and his mind went blank. Maddie had to step around him to get through the doorway herself and was relieved to see David Hodges rise to his feet and hurry towards them.

"Gil, I'm sorry you had to through that, but you did really well, I mean it. Now, go back to Captain Brass' house with David here and get some rest. I promise I'll let you know when I have some news."

Grissom nodded although it wasn't clear if he'd actually heard a word. Confirming to Maddie that he could manage to get Gil to his car OK, Hodges gently guided the older man out of the building.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Jim sighed as he felt his cell 'phone vibrate inside his pocket, he really hoped that wasn't David Hodges again. This operation was vitally important, which was why he'd made the decision to run it personally instead of accompanying Gil to the Court House. However, when Hodges had called him to let him know that the hearing had apparently gone well but Grissom was coping badly with the aftermath, Brass had faltered slightly, saying that if Hodges really couldn't calm his friend down he should call again and Jim would hand over the operation to someone else and go home to help.

Flipping his 'phone open he checked caller display and was pleased to see the caller display did not say 'Gil', 'Hodges' or 'Home'. In fact it was the call he'd been waiting for to trigger his teams next move, he just hoped the message was "Go".

Pressing accept he pressed the handset to his ear. As he listened a wolfish grin spread across his well worn features. Ringing off he gave the signal to the uniforms who had been keeping discreetly out of sight. He was going to enjoy this; he just wished he could get away with recording it on his 'phone so Gil could enjoy it later too.

**A/N** Thanks for the encouraging comments on my last chapter, I apologize for not getting back to people, but I was concentrating on getting this chapter done. There's not far to go now, but your reviews and comments are certainly helping me get there!


	40. Price Check

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 40**

**Price Check**

"You're arresting me?" Vincent Lurie was indignant; he certainly gave the impression of a man who had no idea why anyone could want to arrest him. Brass couldn't avoid comparing this performance with the scene months ago when he'd watched, unable to intervene, while Gil Grissom had gone into shock when he had been arrested on suspicion of killing Laura McCain.

"Perhaps you would care to tell me what I'm supposed to have done?" Lurie continued, trying to brush of the uniformed officer who was attempting to get him to move his arms behind his back.

"Doctor Vincent Lurie, this afternoon you were indicted on three counts of murder, one count of conspiracy, one count of malicious prosecution and, well, I'm sure you've got the idea by now. Anyway as a result a warrant was issued for your arrest, which is why I'm here."

"I'm sure that any maliciousness here is entirely on your part, Captain Brass, simply because I came forward to tell the truth regarding your friend, Doctor Grissom."

"You know, I thought you'd say that." Jim's tone remained light. "Unfortunately, you can't claim this arrest is just me deciding to get a little revenge, I have a whole Grand Jury behind me right now. So let's just get on with this."

"Call my attorney." Lurie ordered his secretary as his wrists were finally brought behind him to be cuffed. Brass finished giving him his Miranda rights before telling the young woman not to waste her time calling Andrew Mason.

Lurie, who had been busy telling the uniform who was restraining him to leave the handcuffs as loose as possible to avoid affecting the blood flow to his "surgeon's hands", turned back to look at Brass in consternation at Jim's words.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you wouldn't have been told. Mr Mason has retired from the Law. It was part of his deal, you see. He ceases to be an attorney and testifies against you and we give him immunity from prosecution on that conspiracy count I mentioned or as an 'accessory after the fact'."

"But he can't testify against me." Lurie winced as the cuffs clicked into place just tightly enough to pinch. The uniformed officer mumbled something that might have been an apology, but the handcuffs remained as they were. "What about my client confidentiality?"

"Seems it doesn't apply when the contact was with regard to an ongoing criminal act." Jim grinned in reply, "but even though your former attorney is free to talk about your activities, I'm sure you'd prefer it if we didn't spread them all over the place and continue this discussion back at the Police Department instead."

Brought back to awareness of the fact that they were in his office and that several of his staff were present in addition to a number of police officers, Lurie nodded his consent and allowed himself to be led away.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

A pair of troubled blue eyes flew open as her gently questing hand came into contact with the high forehead above them. They seemed to take a moment to focus properly and, in that time, their owner was half way up and out of the bed he had been lying on. Only then did the strawberry blonde hair and voice telling him to "calm down Gil, it's only me," finally register and Grissom slumped back against the crumpled pillows, pulling the bedclothes up rapidly to cover himself, although the flannel pyjamas he was wearing revealed nothing other than a preference for plaid nightwear.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Catherine continued, "but I just got here to take over from Hodges and I thought I should look in on you. You were thrashing about and mumbling so much that I thought you might have a fever. I was just feeling your forehead to see if you felt hot."

"And do I?"

"Actually you're rather cold," _but your forehead is dripping in spite of that_, she added silently, casually slipping her hand into her pants pocket in order to dry it a little. "So I assume the cause was a nightmare."

"You know how I feel about assumptions, Catherine, but in this case, yes, you're right." He avoided her gaze as he admitted it.

"You've been getting a lot of those recently haven't you?" Catherine moved to sit on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on her friend's comforter covered leg to stop him automatically moving away. Her voice had become gentler with her last question. She may have earned a reputation for hard headed stubbornness at times, but when someone she was so close to was pressing her 'Mom' buttons like this she became a different kind of person.

"Does that surprise you?" As always the personal questions were putting Gil on the defensive and, as he so often did, he avoided answering them directly by responding with questions of his own.

"Of course it doesn't." Catherine had been using the question to give him an opportunity to open up but it was clear he wasn't ready to. "Now, stop tying to be difficult and put me off," she continued, "or I may have to hug you to prove that it isn't working."

For a moment Grissom actually appeared to consider her threat, as if a hug might really be very acceptable right then. Then a glance down reminded him that he was in what he considered to be a 'state of undress' and he rapidly changed his mind.

"Sorry, Cath," he said, sitting up a little straighter. Automatically he reached to push his hair back from his brow. Coming into contact with the same moisture Catherine had felt earlier he realised just how bad he must look.

"Maybe I should forget trying to sleep for a while," Gil sighed. "I only agreed to David's suggestion that I should give it a go because neither he nor I could think of what else to do with me."

"Well I'm sure that I'll be able to think of _something_." Catherine said, pretending to look Grissom up and down doubtfully. Then she smiled, "take a shower to warm yourself up a bit and then get dressed and join me downstairs. I'll get some coffee going, or maybe you'd prefer herb tea?" Catherine rose from the bed, patting Grissom gently on the knee as she did so.

"Tea, thanks." Grissom gave a wobbly but endearingly lop-sided smile. "And Catherine?" He added, stopping her just as she was turning to leave the room.

"Yes"

"Would you be terribly offended if I asked you not to have a three course meal laid out for me by the time I get there?"

"Not _terribly_ offended, no. All right, no huge meal, I get it. See you in a little while."

Catherine left Grissom to it. Heading for Jim's kitchen she wondered where the remainder of Gil's 'belated birthday' cake was, surely she could persuade him to manage a nice man size helping of that with his tea. After all he'd have something to celebrate when he heard of Maddie's success with the Grand Jury.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Are you going to be able to keep calm while we do this, Nick?" Brass asked as the two of them watched Vincent Lurie from the observation room. The doctor was accompanied by a very anxious looking young attorney who Brass could not recall seeing before. It wasn't that Lurie couldn't afford someone better, but after he'd called several top flight attorney's practices and been told that none of them were able to represent him Lurie had been told he was out of time and an attorney would be appointed for him so that the interview could go ahead, he could change to someone else later if he wanted to. This young man had been next on the list of attorney's volunteering as public defenders, probably as a way of earning trial experience. To add insult to injury, because he wasn't indigent, Lurie would have to pay the lawyer's fees himself.

When Jim had heard about this he'd been pretty amused. He suspected that every one of the attorneys Lurie had tried to hire had been amongst those who had offered their services to Gil Grissom. It seemed that no-one had been offended by Grissom's random choice being John Morgan and their support for the CSI had extended to all of hem refusing to accept the man suspected of being Grissom's persecutor as a client.

The muscles around Nick's jaw had kept jumping while they watched Lurie trying to brief his new attorney and Jim wasn't entirely happy that the Texan had ended up being the CSI accompanying him during this interview.

Ostensibly a CSI would only be there to take the DNA sample that could be compelled from Lurie now that he was being formally charged, but the intention was that they would then stay and ride shotgun for Brass as Grissom had done in so many interviews previously. Originally the plan had been for Catherine Willows to take this role but, when Hodges had called Jim to say that he really didn't know what more he could do to help Gil it had been decided that Catherine would go over to Jim's house and Nick would join Jim in the interview instead.

Jim knew Nick was an excellent CSI, but the younger man could also be strong willed and become very angry or even obsessive about cases he felt strongly about. As he couldn't get much more emotionally involved in a case than he was with this one, Jim couldn't help being concerned.

"I know what you're thinking," Nick acknowledged. Over the years Grissom had taught him to recognise his weaknesses, even if he hadn't managed to master them completely. "But I swear I won't let my feelings about that sc... Doctor Lurie blow this interview. I already let Grissom down with my pig headed refusal to look for an alternative reason why he took that plea bargain. If I'd not been so determined to think the worst of him we could have got to this stage a whole lot sooner and I am not going to contribute to that man's suffering any further.

Nick stopped speaking and looked at Jim earnestly. "Look, we both know that the DNA sample I take today won't get processed fast enough to help Grissom at his trial, there's only about thirty-six hours to go now before that starts. That means I can stay in the interview with you instead of running straight back to the lab with it. Lurie won't know that for sure, so if I feel like I'm gonna explode or do somethin' stupid I'll suddenly 'remember' the DNA and leave, OK? Likewise if you really think I'm likely to cause a problem at any point you just 'remind' me I should be getting the sample back to Wendy and I swear I'll just go, no arguments. Deal?"

"Deal," Brass agreed, "It might also be handy to use that if I think Lurie needs reminding of the DNA and its value, so don't think I'm judging you too harshly if I give the sign when you think you've done nothing wrong.

"OK, it looks like he's done talking to the lawyer kid. Let's see what we can get out of him."

**A/N** A shorter chapter this time, I was going to include Jim's 'chat' with Lurie in this part but, after a couple of days working on it, I decided it was better given a whole chapter to itself and to give you this in the meantime.


	41. Every Man Has His Price

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Chapter 41**

**Every Man Has His Price**

Jim seated himself carefully so that it wasn't obvious that Lurie's long legs were impinging on his space. It was probably deliberate on the surgeon's part, an attempt to make Brass uncomfortable while giving the impression of being laid back and relaxed about the situation. For a moment the detective had been tempted to ask the man to move and then claim that the light reflecting off Lurie's head was getting in his eyes but, while he wasn't opposed to using humour in his interviews, this wasn't the time. He was about to start a complicated game with Vincent Lurie and he wouldn't even discover whether it was poker or chess until they were much further down the line.

Lurie appeared serene and unruffled, maintaining the kind of aura of calm and competence that stood him in good stead as a surgeon. There was also a suaveness about him that had clearly made a powerful impression with some women. Debbie Marlin had clearly seen something in him for quite some time, even if she'd been seeing a man nearer her own age at the time she died. Several of Lurie's employees had seemed very smitten when Brass had questioned them about activities at some of his private clinics. Jim was as certain as he could be that he had used this charm, together with his position of trust as her doctor, to control Laura McCain and groom her to the point that Lurie would be the first person she called to help her deal with the trauma of being broken into and accept 'a little something to calm her down' without question. The team were confident that, now they could compare Lurie's fingerprints directly, they would show that it was he who had adjusted Laura's car seat and therefore Lurie was the 'friend' who had arrived by taxi to drive Ms McCain home after Grissom had persuaded her that she wasn't fit to drive herself. Jim hoped that the ADA prosecuting Lurie would make a point of Lurie's 'position of trust'; it could be the deciding factor between first and second degree murder in this case. The worrying thing was that it could also be used against Grissom, whose position as a CSI gave him access to the McCain house and must have contributed to Laura's willingness to accept his offer to escort her back to her car. Jim hoped his feelings weren't displayed on his face as he quickly banished thoughts about his friend's predicament from his mind. He couldn't afford to let worry or anger interfere with what he was trying to do. Thinking of Lurie's talent for charming women reminded him once again that it should have been Catherine joining him on his side of the table. It would have been interesting to see her interact with Lurie, whose tactics she would easily have recognized and Brass would have loved to observe Lurie's reaction when he realized that Catherine was immune to his charms.

Instead Nick was next to him. Aware that it would not take much for Lurie to destroy his composure the CSI was concentrating his attention on Whiley, the young lawyer who had suddenly found a multiple murder case on his lap. Neither Stokes nor Brass had met this man before tonight and it would be interesting to see if his name turned out to be descriptive or ironic. Judging by the grey suited man's nervous reaction to Nick's friendly 'no hard feelings' smile it was the latter and, if this was the case, Jim was wholeheartedly thankful that the Miranda rights only promised the suspect _a_ lawyer, not necessarily anyone specific.

He let the internal smile slip onto his face and into his voice as he decided that proceedings had waited long enough. Quickly Jim went through the introductions of those present to identify them on the video and voice recordings.

"So, Doctor Lurie, it seems that our meeting tonight is under rather different circumstances than the last time I formally interviewed you." Brass intended to continue but Lurie, despite his appearance of nonchalance, quickly jumped in.

"So it seems." The surgeon interrupted a smile on his face. He glanced meaningfully over at Nick. "It's such a shame that your friend, Doctor Grissom, was unable to be here."

"I agree, but he had a couple of appointments earlier today. He went home to get some rest." Brass deliberately did not specify whose home Grissom had gone to or that, as well as his 'appointment' with the Grand Jury Gil had been obliged to see the court appointed psychiatrist.

For a very brief moment it was possible to detect the slightest indication of concern on Lurie's face before it was smoothed away. _Point to me_, thought Jim. Clearly Lurie had been unaware that Gil was no longer in prison. He'd leave the surgeon to guess the possible reasons for Grissom's freedom and their implications for him. Lurie's need to appear unruffled would act in Jim's favour, his interviewee couldn't ask for more information without giving away the fact that he cared.

"I assure you that Mr Stokes here is a fully qualified and experienced CSI." He turned to Nick, "perhaps now would be a good time for you to take a sample of Dr. Lurie's DNA?" Nick nodded and stood. Moving around the table he withdrew a swab.

Lurie, still a little off balance from hearing that Grissom was not currently in prison, actually looked at his lawyer for confirmation that the test was permissible. Whiley took a moment to look up from the notes he had been desperately scribbling in an attempt to keep up and confirmed that Lurie's arrest meant he was compelled to provide a sample of DNA. Reluctantly the surgeon acquiesced.

Brass waited until Lurie had his mouth open for Nick to take the sample of cheek cells for analysis before continuing.

"I'll certainly pass your concerns on to Doctor Grissom when I see him, but what I actually meant was that this time you won't be walking out of here as a free man. You have already been indicted by a Grand Jury on a number of charges. You will not be going home tonight, in fact you'll be staying with us until you are arraigned and I happen to know that your remand until trial will be strongly called for by the DAs office."

That got a response. As Nick extracted the swab, Lurie frowned. He was going to stay in custody, but Grissom was apparently free? This wasn't how things were supposed to go.

"I believe I am still on the witness list for Doctor Grissom's trial, which is due to begin tomorrow. Has that changed?"

Lurie was clever, Jim couldn't deny it. The question was reasonable under the circumstances and forced Brass to give him information on Grissom's status that Jim would have preferred not to reveal.

"If and when you are needed to testify, you will be taken to the courthouse. You'll be under escort, of course. We wouldn't like you to miss _any_ of your appearances before a judge." Jim hoped the 'if and when' would still leave Lurie uncertain about the situation.

"Anyway, now that you've raised the issue of Laura McCain's murder perhaps we can get on with this interview? You and I have already discussed the murders of Debbie Marlin and Michael Clarke before and what little there is to add about your involvement in their deaths can be fitted in later I think, so perhaps you can brief Mr Whiley on the circumstances of their deaths after we're finished here. So, let's begin with your choice of victim..."

"Wait!"

Jim had been expecting an interruption of some kind at this point and was already armed with a response.

"Is that a problem, Dr. Lurie? I thought your recall of that interview was more than adequate? Or perhaps you don't remember what went on in that room as well as you claim." It was a cheap shot and unlikely to gain him any real advantage, but Jim enjoyed the little poke at Gil's tormentor all the same. Having got it in he waited patiently to hear whatever objection Lurie really had in mind.

"You know, I'd be very interested to hear why you think this interview is necessary at all, if you're so confident that you have all you need to convict me." Lurie began, pressing the tips of his long fingers together in front of him as he leaned his elbows on the table. Although he was now sitting forward, he was still managing to appear relaxed. "Still more interesting would be your explanation of why you think I would participate in this farce. First, though, I'd like to warn you that as soon as I obtain the services of a decent lawyer I am going to have you taken off this case and get this stupid idea that I discussed an 'ongoing crime' with Andrew Morgan, allowing him to testify against me thrown out of court."

Jim was pleased, Lurie was still on his high horse, but there were already signs of anger appearing. It was clear that something was actually getting to the doctor, it was a good start. Now he had to keep pushing.

"Oh, I wouldn't dismiss with Mr Whiley's services just yet," he pointed out, "I heard you already had some trouble hiring an attorney, I'd recommend you make sure you already have a replacement before you insult the representation you currently have. As for your objections, can I recommend that you think hard about which one you eventually pursue? I'm here because I was the primary homicide detective on the investigations regarding all three of the killings for which you have been indicted. The McCain case was removed from the jurisdiction of LVPD when Dr Grissom became a person of interest. Now someone else is under suspicion I have resumed the lead. If you want me removed from the case then you'll need to prove that my colleague is also a victim and, to do so, you'll have to admit responsibility, otherwise how could you know that he was framed? Conversely, I believe the DA's office's argument for suspending client-attorney privilege is based on the idea that the sole motivation for killing Laura McCain was in order to frame Dr. Grissom for her murder. Therefore, as long as Dr. Grissom remains under suspicion and you are listed as a witness against him, the crime is ongoing and any communication you had with Mason regarding the murder can be used as evidence. Unless, of course, you admit to killing Ms. McCain and show that it was for some other reason."

Now it was Jim's turn to lean back and look smug. Not only was he rather pleased with the circular reasoning that he had just come up with, he was also on a self imposed mission to irritate Lurie as much as possible, hoping to crack the veneer of calm and force an error from the suspect. He took the opportunity to examine the reactions of the other people in the room. Was it possible that Lurie had become a little pale as the realisation that he wouldn't be able to walk all over Brass sank in? Jim hoped that was it. Lurie relied too much on getting the better of other people because his intelligence was intimidating. Brass knew he was no genius himself, his bachelor degree had merely been average there had been no suggestion of continuing his studies beyond that, but years of friendly jousting with Grissom had shown him that quick wits, experience and choosing the right battleground could allow him to overcome even a 'superior intelligence'. However smart Vincent Lurie was Jim knew that he was nowhere near being in Gil Grissom's league. At least not the league Grissom had played in before circumstances and depression had begun to affect him so badly. Again Brass put away thoughts of his friend in order to concentrate on the here and now.

Having assessed Lurie's reaction, the detective considered Whiley, whose response was even more interesting than his client's. Jim was sure a decent lawyer could have picked a lot of what he had just said to pieces, but the young attorney had said nothing. Either his name was even more of a joke than Brass had first thought and the guy was actually incompetent, or his warning had come too late and Lurie had already managed to alienate his lawyer to the point where he wasn't going to get any help unless he asked for it. Jim suspected that Lurie was too arrogant to admit he needed that assistance. Now he just had to find a way to take advantage of that.

"Now you've had a moment to absorb that, maybe I should answer your initial questions." Brass sat up straighter again. "You're quite right; I have other things to do besides talk to you tonight. A quick confession would be nice, because then I could leave and get on with them, but that's not what I'm expecting, not yet anyway. I learned a lot about you the last time we met, but you didn't really pay much attention to me. If you had you'd know that I like answers. Mr. Stokes and his colleagues have pretty much told me everything about how you did this, but I'm interested in the why. Oh I have theories, I always did, remember? Unfortunately with human behaviour the only way you can be absolutely sure is to talk to the person whose head it all happened in. I would love to hear your 'whys' Doctor Lurie. Not just the obvious ones, I can see why you might have got jealous of Dr. Grissom, but the less clear ones, like why, when you'd been so careful up to that point, you did something as stupid as handing over key pieces of evidence to your attorney. You work in a number of hospitals, Vincent, you had access to incinerators and sterilizers, those pieces of evidence could have been nullified and disposed of so easily and yet now they're in our hands. I would love to hear you justify that decision.

"But you're quite right; you need some incentive to talk to me. I can understand your reluctance, I really can. So, let's see if I can sell you a few reasons.

"The first is knowledge. I'm sure that you'll be offered a plea bargain at some point and I would recommend strongly that you consider it. In any negotiation, as I'm sure you're aware, knowledge is strength. Any questions I ask are bound to give you at least some idea of what we evidence we have to implicate you in these crimes, which in turn will help you decide just what kind of deal you might be prepared to accept. The more questions you answer, the more new questions I'll ask, and you might find out almost as much as I do.

"Secondly your co-operation would increase your chances of getting a good deal and, if you do insist on having your day in court, jurors do have a tendency to be more accepting of statements which have been put on record previously rather than those suddenly introduced in the courtroom out of the blue, whatever some TV shows might have you believe. This will be an opportunity to get your side of the story on record." Jim allowed the briefest of pauses before he added, "I'd really want to do that, if I were in your shoes, because what you probably imagine was an example of Machiavelli style plotting looks more like the triumph of dumb luck over sheer stupidity, when you read what's made it into the file so far."

Lurie didn't answer. Jim suspected that it was taking all the man's concentration to stop him from rising to the bait and letting his pride force him to take credit for his machinations, whatever the consequences. Still aware that he needed to tread carefully he decided to push just a little more. For the first time he referred to the notes in front of him, it was something he rarely did in interviews, but there was a definite point this time. Flipping over a couple of sheets he came to a list. It was written in Greg's handwriting, a scrawl which Jim had discovered to have unusual properties. Despite being surprisingly legible when you came to look at it the right way up, it was completely indecipherable to even the most practiced of 'upside-down' readers, a skill not uncommon amongst criminal lawyers.

"I have a whole list here of lucky breaks and coincidences without which your attempt to persecute Gil Grissom would have failed miserably." Brass wasn't lying, the notes in front of him did include such a list, but they also contained a list of things that were anything but coincidental and also the 'don't know for sure' list. All the lists were the result of a brainstorming session that had taken place a few days earlier, the sad conclusion of which had been that, although Lurie had been very clever, Grissom had also been the victim of a number of episodes of bad luck and, in a few cases, his own personality. The latter cases had varied between Gil's instinctive chivalry in helping Laura McCain and the self destructive impulses caused by his depression and Sara's apparent rejection of their relationship. It had been a morbid group that had left Grissom's old office after that session and Jim had just been grateful that Gil's demands to be left out of the loop had stopped him from hearing the conclusions they'd come to. Now Jim had a use for the list.

If Lurie had already decided to be co-operative, then curiosity and a wish to wrap things up neatly would have directed Jim to concentrate on the list of 'don't knows' getting the defendant to identify which was which, and having him explain how he'd arranged anything that turned out to have been deliberately arranged. For now most of those questions would have to wait. Instead Jim would have to carefully balance the other two lists, concentrating mainly on the coincidences and the occasions where Grissom had played into his persecutor's hands, but trying to throw in just enough of Lurie's own work that, with a little luck, the killer would be driven to admit that he had done those things, just to refute the argument that, had it not been for chance, the whole plan would have failed miserably. Brass had to achieve all that without letting Lurie forget that they still had enough to put him on trial for three homicides. It wasn't going to be an easy night.

"Coincidences?" Lurie pounced on the word before Jim could even begin with the list. "Perhaps it's all coincidence. After all, last time we met, coincidences were all you had."

Jim was only slightly deterred by the interruption.

"Of course it's not all we have; you did manage to do a few things without relying on 'Lady Luck', something you should never do in this town, if you remember.

"So, taking an example, it's clearly no coincidence that Dr. Grissom was late for work on the night Ms McCain died. You couldn't just hope that he would be because, since Gil Grissom was promoted to supervisor back in 2000, he's only been late to work a half dozen times. So, knowing you had to force it to happen, you decided to poison his dog." Jim paused to shake his head sadly, "Bad choice, very bad choice, not only did you leave plenty of evidence lying around to tell us what had happened, the jury isn't going to like it either. I've seen juries turn a blind eye to some terrible things and still give a defendant the benefit of the doubt, but cruelty to animals? You'll lose them immediately. It could even change their votes from Murder Two to Murder One. If they do that on all three homicides then you're definitely looking at the needle. People are funny that way. Not that it really matters of course, abusing your position as Ms McCain's doctor will be enough to get you on death row anyway.

Jim shook his head condescendingly, and then decided to continue with the animal theme. Now 'Bugs' the house bunny got a mention, Brass almost seemed to be praising the surgeon's ingenuity at first but then declared that it was ridiculous to have put effort into such a complex scheme when it had all been down to luck that Catherine decided to send Nick, when she could easily have picked someone else to go on the case.

"It's pretty ironic, isn't it, that it's now Mr. Stokes who will be taking your DNA sample upstairs to compare it with the blood he found on his partition wall from when you made the rabbit it's entrance hole. Those 'surgeon's hands' of yours just aren't used to handling something as ungainly as a hammer and chisel. I suppose you normally avoid doing DIY like the plague, don't you?"

Jim stopped and looked hard at Lurie tapping the pen he was holding against his lower teeth as if considering something.

"That's it, isn't it?" Brass asked, with a frown of concentration on his face. "Surgeons are supposed to be prone to 'God Complexes' aren't they? You didn't just think that the gods were on your side when things like that happened to go your way; you actually believed they happened because you are God! Tell me, when did that start? Was getting away with murder the first time the final proof you needed of a suspicion you'd had all along?" He sat back in his chair once more, allowing a smug smile to rearrange his features.

"Better make a note of that, Mr. Whiley, looks like your client could get away with an insanity plea. Of course you'll need him to admit he's nuts before he'll agree to be assessed by a psychiatrist, but that's your problem, I'm afraid."

Another talent that Jim had developed during a long association with Gil Grissom was how to spot emotions in normally undemonstrative men. Vincent Lurie was now reaching boiling point.

"OK, Nick?" Jim addressed himself to his companion. "I had hoped to get some good information from this interview, but we might as well stop now and have Dr. Lurie taken back to the cells for the night. There's no point asking him any more questions if he's just going to claim this is all down to his omnipotence. Shame, really. Still, we can at least go and get some rest now."

"I'm pleased that you see me as some kind of god like being." Lurie's voice interrupted Jim's exaggerated moves towards winding up the interview. Brass turned his attention back to the man, raising an eyebrow to indicate that he was aware that his words were being twisted but was prepared to allow it for now.

"Assuming that someone did have a reason to arrange the situation you described, they'd hardly need to be omniscient to work out who they'd be most likely to have to draw away from the crime scene. The graveyard shift at the Las Vegas Crime Lab is hardly a large team, particularly since Miss Sidle's sad decision to depart." For the first time Lurie's pretence of disinterestedness broke, and a brief wolfish smile showed as Lurie contemplated the memory of his happy discovery that Sara was no longer working beside his victim. Although he'd considered her a potential murder victim as part of his campaign against Grissom, he had never had anything against her as a person. It was enough for him that Grissom had lost her in another way, especially if his plans ensured that she would reject any possibility of going back to Grissom in the future.

"If Doctor Grissom is absent at the start of shift for any reason then assignments are handed out by his deputy, Miss Willows." Lurie continued, bringing himself back to the present topic, "I would imagine that she wouldn't be eager to take a case as boring as a simple break in for herself and would choose something more interesting instead, probably taking the young Mr. Sanders with her as he is still being trained and not yet taking solo cases. That could only leave two possibilities to take the case and even these 'super heroes' take days off on a regular basis. It would be easy enough to find out the pattern and select a night when one of them would be away from work that would also fit in conveniently with any other arrangements that needed to be made leaving only one specific man to arrange to lure away. So, you see, it wouldn't be difficult at all, with a little research."

Jim nodded understandingly, hiding his glee at the doctor's slip. Lurie might have been careful to be 'hypothetical' in his discussion of how someone might have narrowed down the possibilities for how events might play themselves out on the night Laura McCain was killed, but he'd still managed to give away that he'd done more than a little research himself in order to know what 'might' have happened.

"You may have a point there, Dr Lurie, but I'm still puzzled about how someone who could work all that out logically could come up with something so stupid as messing around with a rabbit in order to persuade my colleague here that he needed to go home."

"Well, if your 'colleague here' hadn't been so damned paranoid about home security then it wouldn't have been necessary to start scraping around to find some way to get access to his property and come up with a distraction that involved him actually having to return home instead of just calling someone to deal with the problem. One thing you learn as a surgeon is that, if it becomes impossible to make the first incision where you originally intended, it is necessary to be creative in finding a suitable alternative. I think I should be commended for thinking 'outside the box' on that occasion."

"Or 'outside the hutch' maybe?" At last Jim allowed his sense of humour to break through. He was finally satisfied. The knowledge Lurie had shown in suggesting how an imaginary perp might have worked out who was most likely to be at the scene was incriminating in itself, but the final slip, the surgeon's referral to his own work before slipping into the first person and then, unable to stop himself, demanding to be praised for his efforts in creating a distraction for Nick, was the icing on the cake.

Jim looked over at Nick, hoping that his quip had defused any tension caused by Lurie's reference to Stokes' 'paranoia'. He needed the CSI to play along for just a minute or two more.

"Well, thank you for that," Brass smiled, this time he actually did get to his feet. "I'm sure your statement will be very helpful. Hopefully I'll be able to get around to taking the rest of it over the next few days. It's late now, though, and I'm sure you'd like to rest, so I'll have the officer take you down to the cells. They're not the standard of accommodation that you're used to, but I'm afraid that can't be helped."

With that, Jim ushered Nick out of the room, nodding to the officer on the door to take Lurie away, he dragged the younger man into a side office before Nick could explode.

"Smug bastard!" Nick's language was rather less colourful than Jim had expected. He waited for what he knew was coming next.

"Why the Hell did you stop there, Jim? You were really starting to get to him. Now he's going to have time to think and, when you go to question him again, you'll be back to square one."

"Nick, I _want_ him to have time to think. I want him to have a rough night, realising he's given himself away and getting a taste of what his life is going to be like in prison.

"You and I know that we have a solid case, he still doubts that. If I've got the balance just right he'll feel that he needs to a plea bargain and that he's in a good position to get one, while there are still holes that he thinks only his co-operation can fill in. If he goes to the DA's office asking to deal then they may finally realise that Gil Grissom is an innocent party in all this and cut short the farce that's due to begin tomorrow."

"But surely getting him to admit more of his crimes now would have the same effect?"

Jim shook his head.

"It would take too long. Lurie's an over talker, especially when it comes to praising his own achievements, we could be here 'til morning and still not get through everything. Then the tapes would need to be transcribed and sent to the DA, which would take at least a day and, even then, there's nothing to say the file wouldn't spend a few days just sitting in an in-tray waiting to be read. By then it could be too late for Gil.

"A request for a plea bargain would be handled straight away and get seen by the right people at the right time. It has to be the best option and, if the worst happens, I don't think we'll really be much worse off with Vincent Lurie.

"Besides," Jim finished, taking out his cell and switching it back on. "I need to get home; Catherine and I are both going to need to be there for Grissom tonight. I believe you have things to do as well. With Gil and Catherine both away, doesn't that make you in charge of Graveyard tonight?"

Nick nodded.

"Tell Griss we're thinking of him, tonight and tomorrow," he asked the detective.

Jim silently agreed, already checking a text message Catherine had sent. The two men then left, heading in opposite directions, but both with the same concern.

**A/N** I must apologise for how long it's taken to get this chapter ready for posting. I think I jinxed myself by giving a specific end date for the story. I developed neuralgia over Christmas and ended up taking some very strong painkillers. When I improved and went over what little I had managed to write during that time I found that it was pretty incoherent and had to start over again, because this chapter is an important one and I didn't want to spoil everything by getting it wrong. I hope that hasn't happened and that the length has made up a little for the wait.

There's just one (or just possibly two) more chapter and the epilogue still to go, I think, but I'm not going to risk specifying just when they will appear. :-}


	42. Gil Grissom

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**A/N** Just to add to the confusion this last chapter is written from Grissom's POV.

**Chapter 42**

**Gil Grissom**

Jim is supporting me yet again as we move slowly up the next few steps. I understand now why he was so concerned when I refused to take the elevator to get to the level where the courtroom that I am due to be tried is situated. I really couldn't face getting into such a small space with other people. My stomach must be empty by now after my nervousness stopped me eating and started me throwing up last night, but I still feel like I could vomit again any minute. My legs aren't obeying me like they should and the climb is taking far too long, we're going to be cutting it fine to get to the hearing on time.

I look over at Jim and feel relieved that he doesn't wear glasses. By his expression I can tell that I wouldn't want to see my reflection right now. I didn't get any sleep after Catherine woke me from my nightmares even though I chose to drink herb tea instead of coffee, hoping that would help. Not that I resent Catherine's decision, if I'd continued having those dreams I think it would have been even worse than not resting at all. Jim and Catherine can't have had much sleep either, although they each managed to fit in odd naps while the other was keeping me company.

At first I was a little offended at being baby sat, but I quickly became glad that they were with me. I always thought that running away was a sign of guilt but I was so close to running myself last night. I had to hold on to something that my mother told me when I was struggling to cope with stuff after Dad died. The signs she used were more eloquent than any words I could translate them into, but she basically told me that, if there's something you're afraid of, then it's better to deal with it face to face than turn your back to run and let it come up to catch you from behind instead. Thinking of Mom also reminded me that, while she would have been upset that I got into this position, she would have been even more disappointed if I took the cowardly way out, especially after my friends have worked so hard to help me deal with this while staying within the law.

"Gil, are you OK? We really have to keep moving. There's just over one more storey to go, but we could still go take the elevator for the last one if you're struggling."

I shake my head, the nausea is an effective gag, the messages coming from my body all say that, if I open my mouth, the bile will rise even further up my throat and my mind is powerless to ignore them. Turning to face back up the stairwell I begin to ascend once more, taking one step at a time.

We finally get to the right floor just in time to hear my name called over the PA system. I'm not late yet but it's close and there's obviously some concern that I'm going to be a no show. I cringe a little as my name is broadcast throughout the building. After so long trying to keep my identity and this whole sordid business a secret it chills me to the bone, but I can feel myself relax as I realise that the call only asks "Doctor Grissom to Court Room Five" and doesn't mention my reason for going there.

Jim's hand in the small of my back urges me away from the stairwell doors and around the corner. A man wearing a dark suit is standing by the entrance to courtroom 5. He's looking towards the elevators at first but then he turns to scan the corridor in our direction. Recognizing me he relaxes a little. He is John Morgan's colleague, a junior lawyer taking the second chair for my defence in order to gain experience. I've only met him a couple of times but he seems competent enough. Considering I'm getting the services of Morgan's firm for nothing he's more than adequate and would be a vast improvement on my previous attorney even if he was dealing with my case on his own. Still, I'm a little surprised that it's him waiting here for me instead of John himself. I guess he must already be inside, maybe thinking that he's going to have to find some way to cover for my late arrival.

Jim is quietly taking his leave. I think he's trying to say something reassuring but his voice morphs into a dull buzzing. As the nausea rises again the quality of light around me seems to change. Clenching my fists I will my blood pressure to increase and enable my brain to function normally again before I keel over. A few deep breaths and I'm back, just as Jim steps away. Morgan's assistant, whose name I can't even remember, has an expression of deep concern on his face as he places a hand on my elbow in order to steer me into court. I wish Jim could come with me but I must face this without him or any of my friends from the Crime lab, at least to begin with. Every one of them is on the witness list, which means that they cannot be in the room until after they have given their testimony. As they are all defence witnesses they won't even be called until after the prosecution has finished putting its side, which could take several days.

Trying to concentrate on the fact that my appearance in front of Lurie's Grand Jury yesterday was a success and doing my best to ignore the voice in my head that reminds me how near I came to breaking down, I allow the young attorney to guide me inside.

There are a couple of security officers at the entrance to the court and it's hard to quell the urge to cringe away from them, even though their uniforms do not really resemble those of prison guards. I manage by looking straight ahead and ignoring anything to my left or right. Even so I'm aware that, although the actual jury members have not been brought in to take their seats an equally judgemental group is already in place. We have finally come to a point where neither the nature of this case nor the name of the defendant can be kept quiet any longer and the media is out in force.

My escort somehow gets me to the table I will be sitting at with him and Morgan. I sit down gratefully, resisting the temptation to rest my arms on the table and slump with my forehead resting on them. I try to imagine Catherine or, better still, Sara rubbing me gently between the shoulder blades, hoping it will help me relax.

Cautiously, I raise my head, daring to risk looking around just a little. I've never seen this space from quite this angle before; the witness box has been my customary viewpoint. I still avoid looking back at the press; a picture of the way I must look at the moment would be the image of their dreams and my nightmares.

_Keep calm. Keep calm_. Unfortunately it's the best mantra I can come up with right now and it's not helping much, mainly because I just realised that John Morgan is not here. I'm saying words in my head that I have never spoken aloud and I know I'm starting to hyperventilate. If _I_ was running behind schedule then where the **** is he? One more desperate glance around the room, still trying to avoid any camera lenses and it finally occurs to me to ask the 'second chair' where his colleague is but, just as I persuade myself that I can open my mouth without anything except words coming out, the doors open and Morgan is there. Berisford, the ADA who has been dealing with my prosecution from the start is with him, in my panic I hadn't even noticed his absence.

Hurriedly the two men take their seats, one on each side of the court, Morgan right at my side. I use my eyes to request an explanation, struck dumb once again by the fear something terrible has happened, but Morgan has to convert quickly from starting to speak to giving me a reassuring smile. He really has cut it fine and we must get to our feet while the judge enters.

This is not the judge who heard my appeal to withdraw my plea of 'no contest'. I'm not sure if I'm happy about that or not. Although that judge did rule in my favour, the amount of thought she put into deciding if I should be released and the conditions she placed upon me when she did let me go showed she was no push over. She also made it very clear that the time I was being given away from the prison should be used to improve my fitness to stand trial. Personally I believe that, while I do feel terrible, I am better than I would have been if I had spent these last few weeks in a cell, but I admit that that might be hard for anyone else to recognise right now right now.

This judge is male and middle aged. I have testified in front of him a few times and, from what I can remember, he is not unintelligent and seems to be reasonably fair, although, as I was only present when he dealt with lawyers objections to each other's questions, I can't be sure.

We sit again and the proceedings begin. My fists are clenched below the table top while I concentrate on keeping breathing and maintaining some kind of outward composure.

Berisford introduces himself as acting 'for the people', and then Morgan identifies himself as my representative.

"Your Honour, before the jury is sworn in, I'd like to bring a last minute proposal to dismiss all charges against my client."

I find myself blinking in surprise as I look up at John's profile as, standing by my side; he focuses all his attention on the judge. I have no idea what he is talking about.

"This is an extremely late stage to be introducing a proposal like that, Mr Morgan. I would be perfectly justified in dismissing it out of hand."

"I appreciate that, Sir, but the grounds on which I am basing this application only came fully to light a few hours ago. Mr Berisford has offered no objection and, as you know it is possible to abandon a trial right up to the point when the prosecutor begins his opening statement."

The judge is looking at ADA Berisford now. He has indeed remained silent. Surely he will object? Or is it no coincidence that he and Morgan arrived in court together?

"I have no objection to Mr Morgan's motion, Your Honour. With respect, Sir, I believe it would be in the People's interest if it was heard."

By now I can distinctly hear the sound of scratching pens and pencils and the whirring of various recording devices coming form the media's seats. I can also hear and feel my heart thudding in my chest.

"Very well. All right, Mr. Morgan, what grounds do you have for abandoning this hearing? And please be aware that, if I do not perceive a valid reason for why this motion could not have been submitted earlier I will dismiss it, whatever other merits it might have."

I hope that doesn't happen. It's a reasonable proviso for the judge to make, but I'd hate to find out that the motion is going to be dismissed on that technicality alone, particularly as the jury aren't present yet and will never know what Morgan's reasons to dismiss the charges against me might be.

"Yesterday afternoon an arrest warrant was issued as the result of an indictment by a silent Grand Jury. The charges listed on that indictment included all those with which my client, Doctor Grissom, has been accused, plus several additional counts, some of which relate to a deliberate plan to frame Dr. Grissom. The suspect was arrested later in the day."

I knew everything he's just said yesterday. Catherine told me when I went downstairs after she had woken me, but, when Jim got in from questioning Lurie, he couldn't add much more. I hope that John has more because so far the argument isn't strong enough and, even if it was, the judge could throw it out on the grounds that the supporting paperwork could have been submitted yesterday.

"That in itself was not enough to bring in front of you. However, the new suspect, who is, incidentally, on the prosecution's list of witnesses for this trial, had a change of heart during the night. He has now entered a plea bargain.

"Bearing in mind that someone else has formally admitted to killing the same person that my client is currently accused of murdering, it would be a waste of the court's time and resources, not to mention a cruel ordeal for Dr Grissom, if the charges against him were not dismissed immediately."

The judge has gone silent. A small part of me wants to take the risk of hoping that all this is coming to an end. The feeling has become so unfamiliar that I wonder if the feeling that something is swelling inside my chest is a sign that I have a heart aneurism getting ready to burst.

"Is all this true?" the judge is addressing Berisford now.

"Yes, Your Honour. The DA's Office has accepted the offer of a number of guilty pleas from the alternate suspect on the People's behalf and, because of that; we have no objection to the charges against Doctor Grissom being withdrawn at this time."

The judge raises an eyebrow at this. The gears in my own head are grinding away as I try to process what is happening. Suddenly things start to click into place. The only way that Morgan could have got the information he needed to try this was from the DA's Office. Even as the arresting officer Jim wouldn't necessarily be told about Lurie requesting a deal. Because of Lurie's offer the DA wants to drop the case against me at this time. They don't want to go through a trial against me at this stage because, if they do, Morgan only needs to mention that someone else has admitted to killing Laura McCain and he has immediately cast 'reasonable doubt' on my culpability. That would result in me being found 'not guilty' and then, even if they fail to prosecute Lurie for some reason, they wouldn't be able to come back to me as a suspect because of 'double jeopardy'. Getting the case dismissed now covers their backs; I won't have been tried, so the way would be open to have another attempt at me if they decide that that is appropriate in the future. Getting John to propose the motion is not only more appropriate legally, it also stops them from looking bad if they do pursue things further in the future. I suppose it was their 'deal' for offering him the opportunity to stop the trial now.

I close my eyes for a couple of breaths and then open them again. Even working through that piece of legal logic has taken enough effort to make me grateful that I have John Morgan working on my behalf.

Although I trust Morgan I'm not entirely sure how I feel about the DA's department keeping their options so wide open, but I'll decide that later. For now I need to listen to the judge. I think I've already missed a few words.

"...Unusual situation. In view of the lack of objections from the prosecution and in an attempt to unravel at least some of the complications surrounding this case I am going to allow the proposal and dismiss all charges currently faced by the defendant. Doctor Grissom, you are free to go. Mr Berisford, I will be writing to the DA's Office regarding it's handling of this case."

With that he's finished. _I'm free to go. _I manage to stand and remain stationary for the judge's formal departure but then, before anyone can stop me, I find myself desperately needing to escape that room as fast as I can.

Still remembering to keep my head down and avoid being photographed I head for the doors with steadily increasing momentum. The security guards on the door are taken by surprise because they weren't expecting anyone to be in quite such a hurry to leave. They step to the sides just quickly enough for me to miss them as I barrel through the double doors and into the corridor. Still I keep going, although I'm not sure where I'm headed any more, just _out_ and _away_.

The noise levels around me are rising rapidly. My vision has become tunnelled and everything around me is a blur. I can hear running feet and shouting although the actual words elude me. Has some prisoner tried to escape?

No, it's me, _it's me_! My headlong flight from the court such a short time after the session began must have confused the people in the corridor outside and they've assumed I'm trying to abscond. What do I do now? I should stop, try to explain, but I'm afraid that if I stop they'll jump me, cuff me, push me into the wall or onto the floor to restrain me. I can't cope with that kind of thing, I can't.

Now my vision is getting even worse as my eyes fill with hot tears and my chest is tightening with panic. I can't breathe. I can't...

"...Got him." I catch the tail end of something as the darkness that suddenly overcame me begins to recede again. I wonder how long I was out.

"Give him some space; he's not going anywhere right now." The voice might be familiar, I can't be certain though.

"James, try to calm down, I've got you. Are you OK? James?" Now the familiarity of the voice makes sense. It's Paul Anderson. But that doesn't make sense; I'm not in prison any more. Or am I? Have I been dreaming, hallucinating? Has all this just been part of a complete breakdown?

I concentrate on the comforting hand that is resting on my shoulder as a way to try and hold back the panic as I open and close my eyes several times in an attempt to make them focus.

It's definitely Paul looking down at me, but he's wearing his formal prison uniform instead of the day to day one he'd normally wear when working in the jail. The wall I can see behind his shoulder is, thankfully decorated in the same way as all the courthouse corridors are, not tiled like my cell was, thank goodness. Paul must be here on escort duty or to testify in some case. I try to respond but the disorientation that still surrounds me makes it impossible to do more than blink a few times.

"James?" Paul repeats. His expression is surprised as well as concerned. I realise I am on the floor where I must have fallen after passing out briefly, but someone has propped me so that my upper body and head are leaning against the wall. Paul is squatting beside me. I look at him and manage to smile a little, but I'm not happy about the uneasy looking security staff eyeing me warily from very close by. Several other people have gathered behind them interested in the floor show.

Suddenly a path is forged between them as a familiar form wielding a gold badge makes his way through. As he reaches the security officers he reassures them.

"It's OK, this gentleman was just exonerated and I guess he was a little too relieved by that for his own good. There's no need to take him back into custody."

A close inspection of Jim's detective shield and a radio call mentioning my name and description eventually persuades the men Jim is telling the truth and they finally leave, helpfully clearing the few remaining onlookers as they go.

Brass comes closer and looks down at me.

"Hey pal. I know you don't really want to stick around here, but there are still some formalities to be handled before you can really start getting back to normal." He gazes meaningfully down at where my disarrayed clothing has revealed the tracker on my ankle, it's no wonder security wanted to keep an eye on me.

I smile sheepishly.

While I take another few minutes to get my breath back and absorb this morning's events a little better, Jim takes the chance to talk to Paul who he has recognized from my second crime scene visit as a prisoner.

"It seems you've done my good friend here yet another favour," he says, "only this time I get to thank you properly, without worrying about maintaining a pretence." He shakes Paul's hand warmly.

When they notice that I'm trying to get back to my feet the two people who have given me so much support take a hand each to help me up.

Paul is smiling as he does so.

"There you are, James, and congratulations. I hope you can move on now."

"Thanks, Paul," I respond, shaking the hand that still grips mine. "I certainly intend to try." Then I grin as something else occurs to me.

"And it's not James Price any more. My name's Grissom, remember? Gil Grissom."

And I don't intend to be anyone else, ever again.

**Fin**

**A/N 2** Well, actually there is an epilogue but, unfortunately I think it's unlikely that I'll manage to squeeze it in before some of you see the next new US broadcast of CSI.

So I'm going to take this final full chapter as my opportunity to do something I would never normally do with one of my fics and add a dedication.

To _**William Petersen, **_**thank you for Grissom and best wishes for the future.**


	43. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

**Epilogue**

A few weeks after the trial that never actually happened, Nick, Warrick and Greg were gathered as usual to receive their assignments from Catherine. She was a little late arriving, but when she did appear it was easy to see why. She was accompanied by Grissom, and Jim Brass was following close behind.

"Hey, Boss, we wondered when you were coming back!"

"You've finally decided you feel up to joining us?"

"What took you so long?"

Grissom blinked a few times and dropped into the chair nearest the door at the onslaught of welcome from his friends.

"Well, it's nice to know that this lot are so anxious to get me out of the supervisor's chair." Catherine quipped, trying to give Grissom some breathing space as she seated herself beside him. Realising that Grissom wasn't in the market for hugs and back slapping the team resumed their own seats too. Only Jim stayed standing, a supportive presence behind Gil's left shoulder.

With peace restored to the room Grissom finally began to talk. Not looking up he gazed intently at his own hands while he spoke.

"I'd like to take this chance to thank you all. I know some of you had your doubts about me at first, but you all came through for me in the end. I want you to know that I have no hard feelings for the former and will always be grateful for what you all did to prove my innocence and finally put Vincent Lurie where he belongs."

Nick decided he should be the first to respond.

"We really should have done more for you, or at least started sooner. I know I was the worst of your doubters, I hope you'll give me the chance to make up for it, now you're coming back."

"You've already done that, Nick, and... And I'm not sure I will be coming back."

Jim stepped forward and laid a hand on Gil's shoulder, he knew how difficult this announcement was for his friend, but Grissom had forced himself to do it. After Sara he knew for himself just how it felt when someone you cared about just disappeared without taking the time to tell you to your face and there was no way he was going to do that to the people in this room.

Even Catherine was shocked by this statement.

"But Ecklie said you'd accepted the offer to give you your job back."

The others nodded, they had all seen the press coverage of the Sheriff's admission that he'd asked his equivalent in Henderson to _encourage_ the detectives investigating Laura McCain's murder to arrest Grissom as quickly as possible, hoping to reduce any scandal to a minimum. He now acknowledged that his actions may have prejudiced the initial investigation and explained why so much of the evidence implicating Vincent Lurie had been missed at first. The Sheriff had declared that, because of this, he was going to make an exception to the rule that any CSI who was arrested would automatically lose their job. An 'undisclosed amount' of compensation was also mentioned, but the general consensus appeared to be that the Sheriff would be wise not to stand for re-election, he certainly wasn't expected to win after admitting to meddling like that.

"I did that on my lawyer's advice," Grissom admitted, "by accepting the offer the department has to cover my medical expenses for the time being and I keep my options open for a while longer. I don't imagine that that will make a lot of difference though. I'm sorry, guys, but after all I've gone through, I don't see how I can go back to my old job ever again."

Suppressed sounds of negation and disbelief echoed around the table.

With Brass' strong hand now squeezing his shoulder, Grissom finally found the courage to look up and meet his friends' eyes. For the first time the people gathered in the room realised that, despite the intervening weeks, their friend was still nowhere near his old self. Of course they didn't expect his hair to suddenly grow darker again, not without artificial help, anyway. Putting the weight he'd lost back on over such a short time would have been pretty unhealthy, so they hadn't expected that either, although Catherine would have liked to have seen more progress. Grissom just looked so damned tired and his whole demeanour lacked the intensity and certainty of purpose that had been there before.

"I've always known that mistakes are possible in this job. No-one can be perfect all the time, but I've always persuaded myself that those errors are few and far between. Now that I know what it's like to be one of those mistakes, how can I possibly go on without constantly second guessing myself, wondering if I'm about to put another innocent man through Hell. Maybe there's sense to the automatic dismissal rule, even for those who are eventually exonerated, maybe, once you pass a certain point, you can never get your objectivity back."

Grissom paused to take another breath and run his hands through his whitening hair, which was now long enough to be back in its customary style.

"By choice I've been continuing with the psychiatric sessions that I was originally required to go to as a bail condition, but I'm not making the progress I should, I need something more and I need it to be away from here. I've arranged some residential treatment out of state and Jim has volunteered to drive me up and make sure I get there. I'm going to be pretty much incommunicado, at least at first, so I have to ask you guys not to try and reach me for a while. I don't want you to worry though, so Jim will keep you up to date about how things are going and pass on any messages when I'm ready for that."

The team felt shivers going down their spines. Grissom had always made a point that mental illness should not be subject to any more stigma than physical illness, but it still felt very strange to hear him discussing his own difficulties in that respect.

"But, you will be coming back, won't you? I can see your problem with the job, but that doesn't mean you have to leave town altogether does it?"

"It's OK, Greg. I have every intention of coming back. I'm in no state to make serious long term decisions right now. I'll still be coming back to Las Vegas, my house, my dog, and even you guys. Even if I decide not to go back to work the compensation is enough that I can take a while to think and look at my alternatives and see what else this town might have to offer me before I think about abandoning it and you guys permanently."

He sighed, until the enforced separation from both his work and his life that he had just gone through he had thought of them as one and the same and would probably have decided that leaving the lab did mean leaving Vegas too, just as Sara also seemed to have come to that conclusion.

"So make sure you make good notes at that entomology seminar I hear you're attending next week." He continued, looking at Greg and producing his best semblance of a cheerful smile. "I'll want to take a look when I get back and see what you've done. Whatever my decision about this place I'll be happy to mentor you, or anyone else, in my free time." His smile became more genuine as he took in the three men sitting around the table once more. "I believe I have some reputation for training good CSIs, and we can't let that slip can we?"

With that and a nod accompanied with a smile of apology to Cath for leaving her uncertain about whether her current promotion was permanent or not, Grissom left the room, leaving Jim to field any questions as they had previously arranged. Jim made sure he was positioned between the CSIs and the door to make it clear that Grissom was not to be followed.

Gil headed along a path he'd already planned in his head, wanting to avoid as many people as possible on his way out through a side door to where Jim's car was parked. There was one call he did want to make on the way though.

Slipping quickly into the trace lab he found a spot to stand where he would not be easily recognised looking through the glass walls from the corridor before greeting Hodges quietly.

"Hey, David."

Hodges face split into a rare true smile. He'd heard rumours that Grissom was in the building, but when he heard that the CSIs were taking longer than usual to leave the conference room and head out for their assignments he'd assumed that Gil wasn't going to bother with the rest of them.

"How are you doing? He asked, genuinely concerned.

"I've been considerably better." Grissom answered with a half smile. "I'm glad I managed to catch you alone. The CSIs were as big a group as I could manage to face in one go and I'm hoping Catherine will pass what I've told them on to the rest of Graveyard in a way that will prevent any hard feelings." He paused for a moment shuffling a little uncomfortably. Reaching into his jacket's inside pocket he withdrew a small pamphlet, staring down at it for a moment almost as though he hadn't already read it he continued.

"I'm going away to this place for a while. I hope it will help me deal with a few things and finally help me throw off the depression that made all this so much harder to cope with."

He offered the folded paper to Hodges, who received it with a look of puzzlement on his face.

"The Asylum?" the trace tech. read aloud.

"Yeah, it's kind of a pun. The reason mental hospitals became known as asylums in the first place was that, for those who could afford private treatment at least, they were meant to be places of shelter from the stresses of the outside world, places of safety away from the things that the sick person couldn't cope with. This place tries to get back to that. When you first arrive all they do is enough to make sure that you aren't going to cause any harm to yourself or others. If not they just step back, check you're OK from time to time and eating properly and let you rest without having to worry about day to day stuff or anything to do with the outside world. There's always someone around though if you feel you need help. Then, when you feel ready, there are plenty of treatment options available and they help you choose the ones that will be of most help to you as an individual and you go at your own pace. After the prison regime it sounds like just what I need.

"Anyway, the thing is..." he hesitated, about to make a personal request, not something he would normally do. David tried to look encouraging.

"As part of the initial 'rest' phase the 'Asylum' suggests I choose just two people to know where I am, friends I can rely on to write and call but not force the outside world in on me until I say I'm ready. Jim is one of them. I'd like you to be the other."

Now it was David's turn to stare at the pamphlet while trying to get his thoughts in order.

"If you don't feel you can..."

"No, no, I'd be honoured, I'm just surprised."

"Why? Your visits to me at the prison made so much difference, David. I'd really like that support to continue, if you're willing."

Hodges pressed his lips together dealing with the emotions he was feeling. He nodded spasmodically.

"Of course I'll do it; and I won't even brag about it to the other guys either." David glanced quickly at Grissom, hoping that his friend had taken the rare joke at his own expense the way it was intended.

He had, a brief glitter of amusement brightened Gil's blue eyes.

"I know you won't. To make it easier, as far as the team is concerned, only Brass knows where I'll be, so they won't think to put any pressure on you." He reached to pat Hodges awkwardly on the shoulder to show his thanks. "Speaking of Brass, I'd better get a move on before he runs out of delaying tactics and people start escaping from the conference room to come and find me."

Sitting in Jim's car a few moments later Grissom closed his eyes and thought about what he hadn't told anyone. The reason he'd known about 'The Asylum' and its unusual approach to mental health was that Sara had stayed there for a while after she'd left Vegas. She hadn't chosen him as one of the people allowed to contact her while she was there and he understood why, but she had called him after she'd left, and told him what a good start to her journey she felt it had helped her make. It's complete lack of similarity to the hospitals she'd seen her Mother in or the one where Adam Trent had held her hostage seemed to have made it easier for her. If asked that was also Grissom's reason for choosing the place, but there was another.

Sara was no longer there and there was no way that 'The Asylum' would give away information regarding former patients, but they did encourage people to revisit the facility for a short top up period of rest whenever they felt the need. Maybe Sara would decide to take one while he was there.

Grissom smiled to himself. It was a very small hope, he knew, but after so long without any hope at all it was a very good feeling to have.

---*---*---*---

**A/N** Believe it or not, this is the ending I always intended this story to have. It was in my head long before Gary Dourdan and William Petersen's departures from the show were announced or any of the shows produced after the writer's strike were shown. I decided to stick with my original intention as the only alternative ending I had came from a nightmare and would have included a character death. I really didn't want to write that one.

So, that's it. Thanks for all the reviews and good wishes that have got me through this long piece, they have all been appreciated even if I haven't always responded.

Moonstarer.


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